


Sixteen Blue

by catarrhini



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, F/M, Father/Son Incest, Glory Hole, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, Slow Burn, So much angst, but boy did it ever, don't know why that needed a tag, indie rock, oh shit buckle up, raid on Mordor with paintball guns, we're in for a bumpy ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 91,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarrhini/pseuds/catarrhini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas is tired. </p><p>Everything sucks, and it's only getting worse. His parents are fighting, he can't get laid, and Tauriel's off with her new boyfriend half the damn time. And now he's got to work with that prissy cunt Gimli if he has any desire to keep up his GPA. To make matters worse, he really, really shouldn't have intimate knowledge of how great his ada is at sucking dick, but that line was crossed for him after a little mistaken identity snafu in a campus bathroom, and now they have to figure out how to carry on in the aftermath. </p><p>How the hell is Legolas supposed to make it out of uni alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZSVpmdkc4RFROMDA) is the inspiration for Thranduil's office.
> 
> And the family's kitchen, [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZNTRvenBRZUlCT2c) and [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZdFppZ0tUd2tWajA).
> 
> And [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZcVBpYVhyU2RGdHM)'s the family's living room.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).

_Useless. Utterly useless._

The blank screen of his dead iPhone reflected his slim, pale face, and he wondered for the thousandth time how long he had been sitting on the hard wooden bench in the long corridor outside Professor Oropherion’s office. He snorted mirthless laughter. _Professor_ Oropherion. Everyone already knew he was the President of The University of Eryn Lasgalen’s son, so he really couldn’t see why his father insisted on the pretense. Half the TAs were fucking their profs for a grade boost anyway, so why shouldn’t he benefit from a little bit of good old-fashioned nepotism?

He tapped his fingernail twice against his dead phone then heaved himself up with a sigh to knock softly against the intimidating oak door. Silence followed. The silence dragged on, then came the faint creak of old floorboards, followed by the turning of the etched brass knob. His father’s face appeared in the doorway, a dour frown etched in tired lines. “Did we not set your appointment for 3:30, Legolas?” He asked, his cool, clipped tone scratching shivers of apprehension down Legolas’ spine. His grey eyes flashed behind his dark-rimmed glasses.

“Yes, ada,” Legolas answered, “But my phone-“

“Is 3:25 the same as 3:30, Legolas?” The tall man cut in.

“No, ada,” Legolas answered. “My phone-“

“Then _sit_ down, and wait five minutes,” he hissed. Legolas stared at his father’s expensive leather boots as heat flooded his cheeks. “And it’s Professor Oropherion while we’re at school. Don’t act like you forgot.” The boy snapped the door shut neatly, knowing better than to slam it closed.

“Yes, _Professor_ ,” Legolas spat at the carved oak door. He slumped down on the hard wooden bench, absent-mindedly tucking his olive canvas computer bag closer to his side. He chewed his thumb angrily, tamping the pressure building behind his eyes. His dad could be such a bastard when he was tired like this. He stewed in viperish thoughts about the unyielding man, the frigid and miserable ice king, the abject asshole who lacked all sympathy. The bastard.

The heavy door snapped open once more, interrupting Legolas’ surly thoughts, and the Professor leaned his head out, long strands of hair escaping the haphazard knot piled high on the back of his head. “Well, are you going to sit there all day, boy?” Legolas jumped up, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“My phone’s dead,” he answered. “I didn’t know what time it was.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” The professor scoffed. Legolas began to protest, but Professor Oropherion dismissed him immediately. “Never mind. Just come in. I’m very busy today.”

“You know, I can just talk to you about this at home,” he said as he slunk into one of the creaky leather chairs in front of his father’s elegant desk. Legolas dropped his satchel onto the Persian rug and eyed the shelves lining the walls behind the desk. He had always thought his father’s collection of books pretentious, in stark contrast to the Westerns and pulp noir trash he so favored reading in his free time at home. The selection of books about wine seemed to be about the only sign that his father was the actual occupant of this ostentatious space and not some boring, doddering academia drone. The leather creaked as he shifted in his seat.

“Legolas,” the man sighed as he elegantly descended upon his own throne, “How many times must I tell you to stop heaving yourself into the furniture? It’s most unbecoming. It makes you look poor.”

“ _Professor_ ,” Legolas began blandly, “Sometimes I think you can’t hear the things that come out of your mouth.” The tired man stared for a moment, a bemused smirk brightening his somber features.

“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Forget it,” Legolas sighed.

“Done,” the professor replied curtly. “Now, what is the nature of this appointment?”

“It’s about the essay that I turned in to Professor Feren’s TA last week.”

“The one you claim he lost?”

“I don’t _claim_ anything,” Legolas bit back, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. “I worked hard on that paper, and now I’m going to get a zero, because the TA’s a careless piece of-“

“I wouldn’t finish that thought if I were you,” the Professor said coolly, his slightly lilting tone the only threat of danger the boy needed.

“But ada, surely-“

“Surely, you don’t think I have any jurisdiction in this matter,” he said, removing his glasses to wipe at a smudge on the lens.

“I’m going to get a zero! This class is an intro class for my major. If I screw this up-”

“That’s between you and Feren,” the man insisted. “If you seriously think that you can circumvent his judgment by getting your _ada_ to fix your problems, I can assure you that you are unfathomably mistaken.”

“This _is_ under your jurisdiction! The only reason he’s taking Elros’ side is that they’re sleeping with each other! Surely, that’s against school rules!” Legolas pressed, the dam of emotion in his chest threatening to burst. His hands were clammy, and he couldn’t stop them from shaking. His heart dropped into his stomach when his father calmly rose from his ornate leather and oak throne, his unyielding glare both lethal and hot. With the dull tattoo of his heels against the thick rug, he came to stand in front of the shaking boy, this bastion of poorly concealed rage, and leaned down, gripping the armrests of the chair with cool, pale hands.

“Look at me, boy,” the professor ordered. Legolas looked at his father with rapidly welling eyes. “If I _ever_ hear you besmirching the reputation of a member of staff again,” he growled, leaning closer, mouth ghosting over the shell of Legolas’ ear, “I don’t care if you think you’re an adult now; I will not hesitate to take you over my knee and tan your fragile hide.” A shiver tore through Legolas’ lean frame, and he grimaced against it. Trepidation rose like bile in his throat. “Are we understood?” he whispered, pulling away to admire the single tear sliding down his son’s red cheek. The boy’s lips were pursed in humiliation, and his features were pinched in anger.

Legolas nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He furiously scrubbed at the moisture on his face. His father offered him a tissue as he returned to his seat. He swiped it from Thranduil’s outstretched fingers, resentment a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Now, then,” the cool man said, all business and timetables again, “my answer is the same as last time. Unless there’s anything else you need to ask, kindly remove yourself from my office.” Legolas placed the handkerchief on the desk and pulled his satchel back over his shoulder. He turned to leave, but as he reached the door, his father said, not looking up from his paperwork, “Legolas.”

Legolas turned to him, hair whipping in tendrils around him. “Yes, sir?”

“I love you.” The words came simply, softly. The dam burst. Tears silently flooded Legolas’ cheeks. He wished a hole would open up beneath him.

“I love you, too, ada,” he said softly, through gritted teeth. Thranduil glanced up with a small, sincere smile.

“See you at dinner.”

“See you.”

 

 

“Another delicious meal, Sabariel,” Thranduil said as he leaned across the empty china plates on the worn, ash table to kiss his wife. She smiled her deep, worn smile as she took a sip of her wine. He had once thought her joy could light up every inch of the home they had built together so many years before, but time had changed things.

“Thank you, my love,” she hummed, brown eyes a little too bright.

“Do you have to do that in front of me?” Legolas asked, nose wrinkled in feigned disgust. He hadn’t heard his mother use the L-word with his father in a very long time.

“Your father and I entering a second honeymoon period, Peg Leg, and you’ll just have to grin and bear it,” she chirped, her soothing voice dancing as she spoke. She reached over the table and rubbed her smiling husband’s hand.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Legolas moaned, rising from the table.

“And just where do you think you’re going, young man?” Thranduil asked, the edge of warning clear in his tone. “This table isn’t going to clean itself.” Sabariel laughed, rising on her shapely legs and spry, bare feet. She was a pillar of inner strength and quiet dignity standing before her son.

“If my services are no longer required,” she said, “I’m going to bed. Our director is coming back from vacation tomorrow, and there’s a meeting with all the curators early.” She leaned over the table to kiss her husband once more, to Legolas’ vocal disapproval and slipped through the great archway leading into the living room. Thranduil moved to gather the plates, but Legolas beat him to it.

“It’s okay, ada,” he said, “I’ve got it.” Thranduil sat back down and watched his son work silently, the line of the young man’s back rigid against the backdrop of the huge, darkened window behind the sink.

“You’re still angry about today,” Thranduil noted. Legolas carefully rinsed a large, ochre plate.

He shook his head and flashed his father a tight smile before returning to work. Some time passed in this way, Legolas rinsing, Thranduil watching thoughtfully. The man nearly jumped when Legolas finally spoke again. “It seems the counseling is going well.”

Thranduil sighed and shifted in his chair. “She and I had a breakthrough yesterday, according to Dr. Bombadil.”

“She seems happier.”

“Maybe so.”

“It can’t be easy, being married for so long,” Legolas wagered, patting dry the final dish.

“No,” he agreed. “But anything worth having will require some effort. No relationship is perfect. You and Tauriel have only been together a short while, but you’ll realize it soon enough.”

“Are you giving me relationship advice?” Legolas laughed. “I thought you found it… what was the word? Distasteful, that I’m dating your TA.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck.”

“Fair enough.” Grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine and two wine glasses off of the island in the middle of the room, Legolas joined his father at the table. He poured a glass, slid it to his father, poured another glass, took a deep sip.

“You drink too much. You know,” Thranduil said, “drinking is not the answer.” Legolas rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

“I know, I know,” he groaned. “It’s the question, and the answer is yes. Good one, ada.” Thranduil grinned into his wineglass.

“You’ve heard that one before,” he said.

“Only every time we share wine,” Legolas laughed. “I’m not sure comedy’s your thing. I’d keep your day job if I were you.”

“Watch your tongue, boy, or I might be forced to-“

“Tan my fragile hide?” Legolas spat. He flinched, surprised at how much venom flooded those four words. Thranduil’s face fell, the mirth completely obliterated. “Ada-“

“You may be an adult in the eyes of the law,” Thranduil begin in a very low, steady voice, his grip tight on the stem of the wineglass, “But you still live under my roof and are subject to _my_ law.” Legolas stared at the rich red sparkling in his own glass and bit his lip, the dam forming in his chest again.

“I know, ada,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Hmm.”

A mischievous smirk lit his lips as he looked up at his father again. “Besides,” he said, “You wouldn’t really spank me, would you?” Mirth flickered back into Thranduil’s cerulean eyes again.

“Wouldn’t I?” He purred. “Little boy, are you calling my bluff? That’s a very dangerous thing to do.” He pressed his palms flat upon the table top and rose slowly, a jaguar preparing to pounce. Legolas’ heart began to thud wildly in his ribcage as his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in.

“I do think you’re bluffing, old man.”

“We’ll see about that,” he puffed, leaping towards Legolas, who deftly outmaneuvered him, veering around the table and through the archway that led to the airy living room, Thranduil in hot pursuit, bellowing with laughter.

“You’re getting awfully slow in your old age,” Legolas quipped as he raced behind the low, gray sofa in the far corner of the room, careful not to slam into the floor to ceiling windows that lined the room.

“I’m just letting you tire yourself out, sproutling,” he rasped. “It’s part of my strategy.”

“You’ve always been terrible at chess.”

“I’ve been letting you win.”

“You lie!” Legolas gasped, racing towards the staircase in the opposite corner of the room. Before he could clear the sitting area, his socks met with the polished, wooden floor just so, and Legolas went skidding to the ground with a hard thud and a muted, “Uh!” His father pounced, knocking over Sabariel’s bird-watching binoculars from their small table in the process. He’d pay for that later, he was sure.

“Gotcha!” He declared triumphantly, as he seized his son and wrestled him over his lap, his knees protesting against the white, shaggy rug. “This is for thinking I was bluffing!” He growled through his laughter, swatting Legolas hard against the thigh as he struggled to press the boy’s chest against the floor. Legolas scrambled to get up, but he ended up planted face first into the window.

“Ada! Stop it!”

“ _This_ is for running in the house!” He swatted again, a resounding echo filling the room.

“Ada, please!”

“And  _this_ is for calling me old!” He swatted again, and Legolas gasped against the cold window. His entire body went rigid, and his mouth dropped open. A deep red tinge crept up his neck and lit his entire face aflame. He shoved away from his father and rushed to his feet. His humiliation nearly toppled him when he registered two things.

The first being that his cock was quite obviously, proudly tenting his skinny jeans.

The second being that his father was now at eye level with said erection.

Thranduil realized what he was seeing with a jolt in his stomach, and he quickly cast his eyes down to the floor then shoved himself into a standing position. Legolas panicked and scrambled to cover his shame with a cushion from the sofa. He began to sputter his bewildered apologies as tears welled in his eyes for the second time that day.

“Uh, no problem, ion,” Thranduil said, burning with the agony of his son’s humiliation. “I was a teenager once, too. All it takes is a stiff breeze sometimes.” Legolas groaned and fled from the room. Thranduil was left standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your dad can be such a dick sometimes,” Tauriel said, resting her head against Legolas’ shoulder once he'd leaned back against the old oak tree. The two sat between the reaching roots of the tall oak, watching over the vast green lawn as other students lounged in the shade with study buddies or milled to and from class. He brushed her hair aside as it tickled his nose. “Like, it would cost him literally nothing to just have a word or two with Professor Feren, you know?”

“You know how proper he is,” Legolas said, the urge to defend his father rising up unbidden. “It would be unethical to abuse his power like that.”

“What are you, like, his drone or something?” She scoffed, but Legolas chose to ignore her. “Like, I’ve worked for the guy for the last year, so I think I’m fully qualified to decide if he’s a dick or not.” She tilted her head as she considered her words, slight remorse twisting her face. “I mean, he's a great guy, though, when you’re not working for him, so don’t get me wrong.” Legolas hummed, unimpressed. Seemingly out of the blue, she asked, “So, when are you going to tell him?”

“Tell him…?”

“Set him straight,” she said, smirking at the poor choice of words. “About us. About you. I mean, I hate to be a broken record, but it’s been nearly six months…”

“Tauriel,” Legolas sighed, “you know why I can’t tell them. You know he’s too old-fashioned. Never in a million years would he be okay with me being-“

“Queer as fuck?” She muttered.

“I mean, I guess that’s one way of putting it,” he said with a scowl.

“You know your mother would support you no matter what,” Tauriel pointed out. “She’s kind of amazing.”

“Right, and add another thing to the already massive heap of bullshit between my parents, yeah. Awesome idea, Tau.”

“Legolas, you have a right to be honest about who you are,” she said softly. “I know you think you’re happy with all the pretending, but like, you’re constantly lying to your parents about something that’s super important in your life. I mean, they’re gonna find out at some point anyway. Why prolong the inevitable?”

“I hear what you’re saying, Tau,” he said, “but I just feel like it’s not really a battle I want to fight with them right now. Like, it doesn’t really change anything for me if they know or not.”

“Says the guy who shackled his best friend into being his beard,” she said, her brow lifted in an arch expression.

“Says the guy whose parents are already on the verge of divorce, and he doesn’t want to rock the boat while it’s already sinking,” Legolas retorted.

“Fine!” She said, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ll drop it for now, but I just want to let you know right now that I kind of met someone a few days ago, and I’m not going to let your family drama get in the way of living my life, no matter how much I love you.”

“You met someone?”

“Yeah, well, I need sex, Legolas,” she admitted grudgingly. “I’m a very passionate person.” Legolas pursed his lips and bit back a smug retort. The two friends continued watching the steady stream of students as class let out for the afternoon, two mumbling trails of Ugg boots and backpacks which bordered the open lawn. Legolas felt a pernicious bubble forming in his stomach and felt it rise, rise, rise up to his tongue.

“I got hard while my dad was spanking me last night.” He just blurted it out, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have actually shouted it out, the way it rang in his ears. Tauriel said nothing for a moment, and Legolas wanted to shake her, wanted to make her say _something_.

“Okay, now, _that’s_ going to need some unpacking,” she said mildly, shifting around to look at him. “First of all, you are far too old for anyone to be _spanking_ you, you know, outside of sex stuff. So, that’s weird.” His cheeks burned hot.

“No, it’s not... It’s a long story,” he explained, tripping over his words. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, so his gaze came to rest on the flash of worn, forest green t-shirt that showed through the unzippered neck of her jacket. “We were just rough housing. Like, goofing around. I made fun of him, you know, called him old, and he was just messing with me.”

“But, you’re not, like, _into_ your father, are you?” She asked, the revulsion dripping from each word. “’Cause that’s some serious Greek mythology shit right there.”

“Eru, no. Don’t be disgusting,” Legolas swore. “Who even _thinks_ like that? By the _Valar_ , Tauriel.” She gave him a long-suffering look.

“Then, what’s the big deal?” She asked, bored. “Shit, even _I’ve_ gotten you hard on accident before, and we both know _that's_ never happening.” She turned away from him again and leaned back to rest against his chest. Under her breath, she mumbled, “Besides, it's about time one of them actually disciplined you.”

“That’s really unfair, Tau,” Legolas said, glaring sullenly at the side of her head. “You don’t know what he’s like when no one’s around.”

“I know that if you said ‘Jump,’ he’d say ‘How high?’” She looked up at his face. “The man thinks you hung the moon. Tell me I’m wrong.” Legolas grit his teeth.

“Whatever,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, it was just super uncomfortable. From the look on his face, I thought he was gonna be sick, and then he, like, tried to make me feel better about it, and _that_ just made it worse.”

“What did he say?”

“He was all like...” Legolas deepened his pitch, poorly imitating the man. “Well, son, I was a teenager once, too. Sometimes, it only takes a breeze.”

She snorted. “No, he didn’t!”

“He did.”

“Fuck, that’s so uncomfortable.” She threw her head back against his shoulder as she dissolved into unhelpful cackles. “You may as well throw yourself off the bell tower now.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He deadpanned before hiding his face in her hair.

“Hey, man,” she sighed as her laughter finally abated. “Shit happens, okay? Just never, ever, _ever_ bring it up again, and I'm sure you’ll both be fine.” Her bright, matter-of-fact tone left Legolas unimpressed and unconvinced.

“Anyway,” he sighed, relaxing against the tree again. He wrapped his arms around the girl, comfortable and at ease after the sisterly affection she’d showered him with over the years. “I need to feel better about this. Anything humiliating happen to you lately?”

“Not really,” she said thoughtfully, “though I did just find out that my gay sham boyfriend wants to fuck his father.” Legolas yanked her hair, and she yelped. She yanked his hair in return.

“Burn in hell, she-devil.”

“After you, Elektra.”

Naneth>RU coming 2 dinner 2night?  
Me>Naneth, you’re not Prince.  
Naneth>Are. You. Coming. To. Dinner. Tonight.  
Naneth>Question mark.  
Me>Tauriel and I have a date.  
Naneth>Wear a condom  
Me>Why was I cursed with such a weirdo mother?  
Naneth>Seriously  
Naneth>I’m too young to have grandchildren  
Me>I’ll see you tomorrow, nana.  
Naneth>Love you ion nin  
Me>Love you too, nana.

He felt a twinge of guilt for having lied to his mother about the date. The feeling soon passed, but nerves and apprehension chased it away, and his thoughts returned to the mission at hand soon after.

Tauriel wouldn’t likely text him tonight, and Legolas threw a small prayer into the universe for her archery tournament with the University team at six the following morning. She’d laughingly told him that if she didn’t get to sleep by nine that night, she’d probably end up shooting the other team instead of the targets. He figured she’d probably end up shooting them anyway, knowing her sour morning disposition, but at the very least, he wouldn’t have to think of an alibi for what he was going to do next.

Would he even need an alibi? Surely, Tauriel would just wiggle her eyebrows suggestively and give him some crude compliment as she usually did when Legolas had come even remotely close to getting laid in the past. She could be such a dude at times. Still, even Tauriel would look down on the crazy ass, half-cocked plan he had brewing in his desperate mind.

He checked his phone for what felt like the thousandth time as he sat at the filmy Formica table in the back corner of the campus dining hall. The antiseptic fluorescent light lit his skin nearly blue, the unearthly brightness bringing into stark contrast the veins that played across his wrists. He fidgeted. He checked his phone again. Everything was going to be fine.

He got up to get a refill of coffee, the caffeine already making him feel a little jittery and lightheaded, adding an unwelcome edge to the nerves which already were making him sweat. He sat at the cramped, squat little table again. He fidgeted some more. He decided he’d read the copy of _Dante’s Inferno_ in his satchel, but the words all blended together, so he settled for just holding it up at such an angle that passersby could see the name printed down the battered spine and know that he was reading something highbrow. He nearly had a heart attack when a text popped up on his phone screen.

Meludir>Sorry dude I was sleeping. You sure about this? The place is pretty sketchy  
Meludir >Like mostly old dudes from what I heard. I wouldn’t recommend it  
Meludir> Isn’t there someone you know? Someone you could ask?  
Me>I’ve got an itch, man. And I don’t have all night.  
Meludir>Surely there’s someone you could just ask  
Meludir>At the very least there’s Grindr  
Me>Melu. Come on.  
Meludir>It’s the men’s bathroom near the athletic complex on West Campus  
Me>The one near the statue of my granddad?  
Meludir>Oh shit, that’s right  
Me>Awkward  
Meludir>I think it’s a sign  
Meludir>That this is a stupid idea  
Me>Anyway.  
Me>Thanks, Melu. You’re a real mensch, man.  
Meludir>If you’re sure  
Meludir>Man.

Meludir hadn’t been lying. Legolas stood a fair distance away from the bathroom, just watching and summoning courage, hidden in a small thicket of trees. He felt creepy. He tried to ignore the blank gaze of his grandfather’s statue, the cast bronze figure of the University’s founder, which stood further down the path, near the grand stadium. In the moonlight, he could convince himself that this place wasn’t the grotty, literal shit hole that it truthfully was. Every ten minutes or so, a new hooded figure would enter or exit, stooped and shiftily watching to make sure they weren’t spotted by anyone upstanding.

He could leave, he knew. He could go back to the dining hall or the library, get on their wifi and download that stupid app. He could go shopping for someone to fuck, someone willowy and powerful, instead of settling for the luck of the draw in a filthy public toilet. He could get drunk at a bar and go home with some rando like a normal person. But he was the President’s son, and therefore, by definition, not a normal person.

And what if his father saw the app on his phone? What if someone at the bar tried to out him to his father as some kind of blackmail? Legolas could desperately search for some explanation of how his profile had ended up in the gay dating arena or why he’d been seen carousing with known homosexuals, but this was Thranduil Oropherion he was dealing with. His father would immediately see right through his cobbled lies. His eyes would be heavy with disgust and disappointment, his one shot at leaving a legacy smashed to bits because his son was a sodding pervert. Legolas doubted he’d be able to survive losing the faith and pride and support of his hero. He also doubted he’d have a place to live for very long, were that the case.

He could leave this place. He nearly did. But then, he saw exactly the willowy, powerful frame he needed enter the bathroom, swathed in the anonymity granted by a well-tailored, hooded jacket. From what very little Legolas could see in the dim light, the man was expensively dressed and built for power. The decision was kind of made for him. Pulling the cowl of his hoodie over his pristine, blond ponytail, Legolas practically stumbled into the bathroom.

It didn’t smell great, but it was a far sight cleaner than he’d imagined it would be. It wasn’t clean per se, just _cleaner_. The bathroom seemed empty, but then, he saw the expensive, stylish leather boots under the door of the furthest stall. He knew he had seen them before, probably in _GQ_ or _Vogue Hommes_. This strange man, whoever he may be, at least had good taste. Legolas’ heart was pounding, and his armpits were drenched with sweat. He was hard as hell. With shaking hands, he opened the door and shut it behind him. There was a fist-sized hole in the wall between the two stalls. He heard the man move in the other stall. His stomach flipped, and he felt his cock tightening harder.

“Well, drop your trousers, then,” came the rough whisper. Legolas immediately complied, fingers fumbling with the button of the fly. He yanked the material down around his knees, and his cock bobbed freely past the waistband of his underwear.

“Okay, what now?” He whispered back.

“I’m going to suck your cock,” came the arch whisper. He wasn’t sure why they were whispering, but the gruffness of the man on the other side of the wall excited him. It was all a disguise, in the end. He knew this clandestine act was fucked up and stupid and dangerous, but he was so close to getting what he’d wanted for so long. This man could be anybody, but it didn’t really matter at the moment. To his shame, Legolas was nearly overwhelmed with how much the idea turned him on. He briefly wondered who he’d like it to be on the other side, mouth watering to suck his cock. His frantic mind settled on the crystal clear image of Tom Hiddleston.

“Do you have a condom?” The man asked impatiently.

“No.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hissed, and Legolas could practically _hear_ Tom rolling his eyes. Legolas heard some rustling, and a moment later, the man reached a slender hand through the hole, a shiny package between his index and middle finger. Legolas felt a moment of niggling guilt when he saw the distinct imprint left by a wedding ring on the man’s creamy skin. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?” Legolas nodded, but then remembered the man couldn’t see him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, tearing the condom package open with his teeth. He shakily rolled the condom onto his dick.

“Approach,” the man commanded evenly, and even though whispered, the order slithered up Legolas’ singing nerves, made his cock twitch helplessly, brought his breath in short, silent bursts. He slowly slid his cock through the hole and pressed his hands and cheek flat against the grimy wall. “Gorgeous,” the man sighed approvingly, and Legolas felt hot, damp breath on his balls.

His eyes flickered shut. He released a shaky breath through his nose. "Thanks."

"You know," the man said before licking a stripe from Legolas' base to his tip, "I've always liked blondes." Legolas hummed as his toes curled. The stranger cupped his balls, and Legolas' breath hitched. The stranger took his entire length into his warm, exquisite mouth and bobbed his head a few times. Legolas moaned and pulled his chest away from the wall slightly, looking down to see plump lips wrapped around his cock. He couldn't help himself as he imagined Tom on the other side, touching him so brusquely, wringing waves of fantastic pleasure from every tiny inch of skin he touched, even through the latex barrier. The man suddenly took him in deep, his remarkable Patrician nose buried in Legolas' trimmed thatch of golden hair. The man hummed, and his tight throat squeezed the young man’s cockhead like a vibrating vice. The silken heat felt exquisite. Legolas moaned long and low as his head lolled on his neck.

"You keep that up," he gasped breathlessly, "And I won't last that long. I'm so close." The man withdrew from Legolas' cock with a pop.

"Good," he purred. "I'm going to take off the condom now and jack you off, and when you come, I want you to say my name. And then I'm going to fuck your tight, little ass." Legolas' heart fluttered at the stranger's words. He felt the man's perfect, long fingers slipping the condom from his rigid dick. Without the barrier, the kiss of rough skin against his tender shaft became so much stronger, so much more real. Legolas groaned, long eyelashes flickering against his high cheekbones, and he fought against his orgasm.

"What's your name?" He panted, trying his hardest to fight against the deft hand now fisting him closer and closer to the precipice of perfection.

"Thranduil."

The name hit him like a lightening bolt striking squarely in the chest. White hot shock blanked Legolas' mind as a towering, sweeping wave of panic washed over him. He teetered on the edge of orgasm for a split second, but swept up in that terrible wave, he came hard, gushing thick cords of come from the depths of his tight balls. He felt life draining from him as his head filled with a sonorous, resounding _NO NO NO NO NO_.

"That wasn't my name," came the annoyed hiss from the other side. "And you didn't have to come in my hair." He instantly recognized that arch tone. In a crushing moment of clarity, Legolas knew exactly where he’d seen the stranger's boots. He knew exactly why the agile hand seemed so familiar, even with a touch so strange. Those lips that had just wrung exquisite pleasure from him, he knew so often were pursed with frustration rather than dripping with strings of saliva. The weight of what he had just done fell on him like a gavel declaring a death sentence.

"Ada?" He choked, yanking his trousers up.

"What the fuck?" The man shouted. A moment later, Legolas heard him fumbling with the door. "Open up right this fucking instant." Legolas turned the catch on the door. Thranduil threw the door open. He stood frozen for a moment, staring down at his son, eyes crazed with shock and rage and abject disbelief.

Legolas felt dizzy and sick with horror when he noticed the slashes of cum gleaming in his father's long, silvery hair, spattered across the man's dark grey blazer, dripping in obscene, viscous smears. His legs grew weak, and he slumped onto the toilet. He searched for something to say, some way to convince both of them that what had just happened, well, hadn't. He withered under his father's horrified gaze.

"Legolas," he said, his voice shivering like a vase on a ledge during an earthquake, though the tall man looked like an ice sculpture shattering in reverse, becoming more composed by the second. He plucked his glasses from where they sat atop his head and fixed them back over his eyes, and finally, he said evenly if severely, "You will not come home tonight. You will not tell your mother or anyone else about this. You will forget this ever happened."

Legolas remained motionless, expressionless, mortified to the tips of his pointed ears. Thranduil calmly, slowly walked to the sink, his tall back as stiff as a board. He dabbed away the streaks of his son's release with a damp brown paper towel and exited the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head as he stepped into the cool night air.

When the echoes of his footsteps faded, Legolas roared and slammed his fist into the dingy wall. As the disgust ebbed through him, he thought grimly to himself, in a fit of hysterical dark humor, that if there was a worse way to spend a Friday night, he didn’t know it.

But on the bright side, though, he could stop worrying about coming out to his father, he thought with panicked laughter that left tears welling in his eyes.

The cat was most emphatically out of the bag.

Tauriel was half asleep, her over-sized, holey t-shirt falling off her shoulder, hair a hot mess, when she opened the door. "You fucking asshole, it's two in the morning. I have my archery meet tomorrow."

"Tau, I need a place to stay." His voice was as dead as his red-rimmed eyes. He hadn't intended to show up at her place like this, unannounced and freaking out, but after having walked around campus trying to wrap his head around the night's events, his feet had sort of followed the old familiar path to his best friend's front door.

"Why can't you go home?" She demanded, concern seeping into the roughness of her tone.

"Please don't make me tell you," he pleaded. "I just need a place to stay for a while." She paused, studying him with narrowed eyes.

"You're not in trouble with the law, are you?" She asked shrewdly. "Am I gonna get in trouble for harboring a fugitive?" He shook his head, tired.

"Nothing like that," he said. "Please, can I just stay with you?" She paused another moment, but then she finally held the door open for him.

"Goddammit, Legolas," she sighed. She disappeared into her bedroom for a moment, then reappeared with a thin, scratchy blanket and a limp pillow. "Couch is yours. Now, I'm going to bed, and if you wake me up again, I swear to Elbereth, I'm putting an arrow between your eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews and kudos, guys! Feels good.
> 
> If you like this story, I recommend listening to the song that inspired it, "[Sixteen Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYnXvP_1rsw&ab_channel=matdinozzo)" by The Replacements. I lifted some of the narrative elements from the song to incorporate it into the story, and I think the mood of the song guided the tone my writing.
> 
> Also, check out [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com/) for updates and images related to Sixteen Blue and also just a whole lot of shirtless elves. I just posted some of my Sabariel [headcanon](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com/post/149586245321/sabariel) if you want to find out more about this rad woman.
> 
> Again, thanks for reviewing, bookmarking and leaving kudos. You guys know how to make a girl feel special!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the inspiration for [Tauriel's apartment](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZeW1pWmV6SW50NjA).
> 
> This is the inspiration for the [Gil-Galad Memorial Library](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZcjY3YmRxU0cyYUk).

He tried to sleep. He really tried, but every time he started to drift off, images of plump, pink lips wrapped around his cock, sliding in and out of view in the hole in the wall, flashed behind his eyelids, and he jolted awake immediately again, the sound of his father's husky declaration _and then I'm going to fuck your tight, little ass_ playing an unwelcome refrain, ringing in his ears.

He glanced over at the black cat clock hanging on the kitchen wall on the other side of Tauriel's bright, airy apartment. Its tail wagged back and forth, but all Legolas could see was the bobbing of his own cock as he had waited with such excitement for his own father to run his slick tongue down his tender cock. He cringed, his face burning hot with shame.

He fell asleep sometime before dawn, and when he awoke shortly before noon, Tauriel had already slipped out without waking him. His back and neck were cramped from having slept curled up on the small, navy sofa. He found a note on the coffee table that she had put next to his phone.

 _Hey, babe. I don't know what happened, but I hope you're okay._  
_Help yourself to my leftovers, and can you let Radagast back in?_  
_-Tau_

He picked up his phone, and his stomach lurched when he saw a text from his mother.

Naneth>Hey honey u didn't come home last night. Ur father and I are worried about u  
Naneth>Everything OK?

He clicked his phone off and got up to let the cat in. It hissed as it ran past him and disappeared into Tauriel's bedroom. "Yeah? Well, fuck you, too, Radagast. Feline piece of shit."

He went to the tiny hallway bathroom, undid his fly, and let forth a stream into the toilet bowl. Before he tucked himself away, he looked down at the cock in his hand, seeing again those full, pink lips, wrapped tight and glistening around him, milking him of breathy groans and hot cum. His stomach roiled as he remembered exactly how that mouth had completely consumed his senses. The refrain of _and then I'm going to fuck your tight, little ass_ tore a growl from him as he punched the wall. His hand throbbed under the cold faucet water.

"You know what, Radagast?" He shouted at the cat in the other room. "It's un-fucking-fair that I have to deal with this shit right now. You know that? This is his fucking fault. He's supposed to be the one with the wife and kid, and he's off with strange men in bathrooms. What the fuck is he thinking doing something like this where someone could recognize him? It’s like he wants to get caught! And I did nothing wrong!" The cat was unimpressed with his plight. Legolas sighed. "Fucking cat."

He trudged into the kitchen and snapped open the fridge. He rifled through the various takeaway containers and settled on a carton of pad thai that seemed fresh enough. He plopped down on the sofa and flipped between channels a moment. Stabbing at the cold noodles with one of Tauriel's ironic Disney princess forks, he angrily finished the carton. Radagast meandered into the room and rubbed himself against Legolas' legs, leaping up onto the flimsy IKEA couch and brushing his head against Legolas' hands.

"Go eat your own food, you fuzzy douche bag." The cat nearly leaped out of its own skin when the front door flew open and a very pissed off Tauriel came storming inside.

"They're cheats! Every single one of them!" She bellowed.

"Tournament go well?" Legolas asked innocently. She slammed her bow down on the coffee table and rounded on him.

"I don't know how they did it," she seethed, "But the Dale University team cheated, and I'm going to prove it. Somehow." She went into the bathroom, and Legolas just heard her banging drawers and cabinets. "You didn't flush, asshole."

"Sorry," he said as he appeared in the doorway. "Is it possible, albeit somewhat distasteful of an idea, that they simply outclassed you today?" She froze, slack jawed.

"How dare you?" She demanded. "How... How _dare_ you?" He threw his hands up.

"It was just a thought!"

"A traitorous, backstabbing thought, you absolute _Judas_ ," she said. Legolas chuckled, then threw himself back down on the couch. She called from the bathroom, "There's no satisfactory explanation for us having our asses handed to us than that the system was somehow rigged against us."

"I believe you!" He called back.

"By the way, your mother texted me on the way back," she said, emerging from the bathroom with a hairbrush and some hair ties. "Asking where you were. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't answer." A tinge of guilt tightened his chest, and he grabbed his phone. Tauriel nudged him with her hip. "Here, budge up. I'm gonna braid your hair."

"Why do you insist on playing dress up with me?" He griped, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her.

"Because you’re such a pretty dolly," she quipped. She pulled his hair off of his neck and ran the boar’s hair brush from root to tip. Immediately, Legolas' shoulders drooped, and some of the tension in his stomach loosened up. He sighed deeply and picked up his phone again.

Me>Stayed the night at Tauriel's. Won't be back again today. Working on some projects with classmates  
Me>Sorry I worried you  
Naneth>OK have fun sweetie  
Naneth>Just try 2 come back by tomorrow night. I want 2 CU B4 my flight 2 Rivendell 2 C grandma.  
Me>I'm not sure when I'll finish the project. I'll try to make it to dinner tomorrow.  
Naneth>OK hon but if u can't come it's OK. I'll only B gone 4 a week.  
Me>Nana, I hate the way you text.  
Naneth>You know I do it just to annoy you, right?

He rolled his eyes and clicked his phone shut. He couldn’t handle his mother’s teasing at the moment, not now when he was nearly coming apart at the seams. Tauriel’s fingers in his hair grounded him in reality. Relaxing into the brush strokes, he closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind, but it still raced with half-formed fears and a writhing, cold apprehension. He'd have to go back home eventually. This, he knew. He'd have to look his father in the eyes and try not to let on that he wasn't full of disgust and guilt and horrible, horrible shame. At all costs, they mustn’t let Sabariel know what had transpired between them. It would crush her.

"So, when are you going to tell me what happened?" Tauriel asked, twisting, separating, winding tendrils of Legolas' hair. Legolas heaved a shaky sigh.

"Well," he started, choosing his words carefully, "I _basically_ came out to my father."

"Basically?"

"I came out to my father," he amended. "And clearly, it didn't go very well."

"Shit," she said under her breath. "Would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation." Legolas nearly shuddered.

"I assure you, you wouldn’t have," he gritted out.

"This is kind of abrupt, though,” she noted suspiciously. Her hands paused before she asked, “What exactly changed your mind so suddenly? Was it our conversation the other day or...?"

"Well," he paused, scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t betray his guilt. "It was kind of an accident. I don't really want to go into it."

"Ohhhhh," she said knowingly, voice rising coyly. "He caught you in the act. _In flagrante delicto_. You naughty boy." Legolas' face scrunched as he considered telling her off for being so flippant. “Shit, you weren’t, like, at home when he caught you, were you?”

"No," he said. "But he told me not to come home when he found out." As he spoke, she finished off the long herringbone braid and fitted a hair tie over the end.

"What, like, ever?"

"I don't know. I don’t think so, but I think he doesn’t want to be near me anytime soon."

“But what about class? You’re in our Advanced Quenya class three days a week. You can’t just stop coming to class,” she pointed out. A nasty thought occurred to her, and she groaned, “Oh, he had _better_ not make me take over the class for him. I already get enough shit just doing normal TA duties.”

“I have no idea, but you know I’ve been doubting my major for a long time,” he answered. “I’m not sure Marine Biology is right for me, and I’m just thinking that maybe I need to take a gap year and then start again later.” Tauriel looked at him in exasperation, head flopping to the side now.

“You live and breathe the ocean,” she said matter-of-factly. “Shit, you even talked your dad into buying a vacation home by the ocean just so you go swimming more often.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, “but I’m not sure that just studying the ocean’ll be enough for me. I’m thinking that maybe I want to go into carpentry. Build yachts. Spend my life on the sea.”

She looked at him with tight-lipped disapproval. Sarcastically, she quipped, “Yeah, or you could just become a fisherman and break your back under the sun for the rest of your miserable life until you land yourself in a sea grave.” Legolas clicked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Dude, listen to Mother Tauriel. You can’t just drop out of school. I know this is really hard right now, and I’m so, so sorry you’re going through it, Legolas," she sighed, bending down to hug his shoulders. "I know how important your dad is to you. I can't imagine what you're going through right now, but still..."

He laughed bitterly, squeezing her wrists against his chest. "I'm not even sure I know what I'm going through right now."

“Well, what did your mother say?” She rubbed his shoulders assuringly. “She’s usually the voice of reason.”

“I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet,” he said softly. “I’m sure we’ll talk about it soon, but right now, I’m just waiting for everything to blow over with ada.”

"Listen, babe, if you need anything..." She started. "No, you know what? I'm taking you out for a spa day. My treat." She slapped her hands against her thighs and nodded decisively.

"Tau, you really don't have to-"

"Bullshit, I don't. Get your shoes on!" She said, grabbing her bag and marching towards the door. “Coming out is hard, and you deserve a reward.”

"Tau, you really don't-"

"And after the morning _I've_ had," she barked, holding out her finger in warning. She didn't finish her sentence.

 

  
Sunday had come too quickly after the whirlwind of post-spa nachos and shots of tequila that had successfully turned the previous night into a hazy blur. Sitting on the couch with Tauriel, tearing through their delivery pizza, watching the last of an episode of Lost, Legolas could nearly convince himself that life was still perfectly normal.

“I swear to Eru that you and Kate are the same person,” he said, pausing the show on a frame of the actress in question. Tauriel squinted at the screen.

“I still don’t see it,” she said, unconvinced. Legolas shook his head incredulously and pressed play again. He could tell she was working up to say something by the way her hand distractedly stroked Radagast’s brown fur. Finally, she blurted out, "So, when are you going home?"

"I'm not ready yet," he answered, pointedly staring at the TV, a queasy feeling growing in his belly. "Probably best if I kick it here for a few more days." She cleared her throat and set down her piece of pizza.

"I think you and your dad need to talk," she said gingerly. "As much as I enjoy your company and the fact that you buy me pizza, you can't hide out here forever." Legolas' brow scrunched in confusion as he ate.

"But I'm not ready to go home yet," he stated, a pink tinge creeping up his neck. "I still need to think things through. I mean, it's still okay if I stay with you, isn’t it?" She chewed her lip and sighed hesitantly.

"I may have sent some rather explicit texts while drunk last night," she began to explain, "and it would seem that things are now moving pretty quickly with Kili-"

"The fuck is Kili?"

"The guy I told you about," she answered, her voice cutting a hard line. "Anyway, he's taking me out tonight, and I kinda need you to do me a solid by not being here when we get back." Legolas' chest was tight, and he swallowed hard.

"Wow, Tauriel, just wow," he said, rising from the floor. "I ask one little thing from you, in my time of need, and you kick me out to the streets for some random fuckboy? Fuck this!" He slapped his plate down on the coffee table and went to grab his bag, shoving his things into the worn canvas. "Some friend you are." She breathed slowly, and Legolas could see that she was counting to ten in her head.

"I think you'll find," she started, "that for the last couple of months, I've done a lot for you in your so-called ‘time of need.’ I think that if you consider the kind of pretending and lies I've told for your sake- because _you asked me to_ \- you'll see exactly what kind of friend I am." Legolas shook his head and yanked open the front door.

"I can't have this conversation right now," he said quietly. He slammed the door behind himself and started walking aimlessly through campus. He ground his teeth. He hated when Tauriel was right.

  
Naneth>Any news RE: dinner?

Legolas looked down at his phone, but he was at a loss for what to say. Should he go home? Face the music? Die of embarrassment?

Me>Is Ada coming?  
Naneth>As far as I know

He scrolled through his contacts list for a moment and began punching out a message.

Me>Yo Meludir  
Me>Guys night tonight?

Legolas wandered into the Gil-Galad Memorial Library, an echoing and cavernous atrium built in pristine black and white, with several floors of bookshelves lining the walls like gills. He found an over-sized leather armchair nestled between the stacks and hunkered down in its cushy depths. He always liked this library, with its polished marble floors, tall stacks of crumbly books, and long swathes of afternoon sunlight beaming in from the high windows. He relaxed deeper into the chair and waited. His phone buzzed.

Meludir>dude would love to but Mum’s in town visiting  
Meludir >plus its sunday night. No ones going to be out  
Me>Yeah, right on. Catch you later bro

He leaned back into the cocoon of the armchair and heaved another weary sigh. Nothing, it seemed, would work out in his favor today. He clicked open his phone again.

Me>Yeah, finished the projects. See you at dinner.  
Naneth>OMG good! Making salmon! CU N a few hours!

In a few hours, he'd be sitting in his usual seat at the small table, across from his mother who’d be struggling to smile through her sadness. His father would be sitting near him, at the head of the table, drinking wine and trying desperately to shower hollow affection on his wife. Business as usual. Would his father still pour him more wine, served with the usual silly joke? Would their knees occasionally brush as dinner and conversation wore on, the same knees that had fallen to the grimy bathroom floor moments before Legolas' hero and childhood idol slid his hot, wet mouth down the length of that young, enthusiastic cock?

Legolas was suddenly burning up, dizzy with humiliation and ever growing, gnawing apprehension. And the _guilt_. He couldn’t think too much about why he should feel guilty, but it had something to do with how his stomach had flipped for the stranger's hands and tongue, how the memory still made him keen for someone to make good on the stranger’s promise, the promise to take Legolas in a way he had never known before.

He shoved an earbud in his ear and started pumping savage music into his veins. His heart was pounding with growing anger.

The whole thing was his bastard of a father's fault, but a sick, husky, low voice taunted him, sing song, accusatory, damning, _You liked it_. He raged with every fiber of his being against that treacherous voice. He had done absolutely nothing wrong. Had he known, had he the slightest inkling of who lay in wait for him, he would have run. He would have turned and bolted and never, ever looked back. He would have torched the damn bathroom with his father still inside. And that _fucker_  had the gall to kick him out of his own house?

For a moment, he imagined he could hear the sound of expensive leather boots stepping closer to his tumultuous refuge among the stacks, like a dead man's heart beating beneath the floorboards. His own pounding heart skidded to a stop when a long mane of pristine platinum hair flashed into view, followed by a lean, tall frame in an impeccably tailored cobalt suit, clutching a stack of books against his chest. For a moment, Thranduil was occupied with examining the spines of the books neatly placed above a placard reading Fro - Fre. He slid the book from its place and added it to the collection in his arms. Having found what he needed, Thranduil became aware of the boy sitting in the armchair, face drained of color and a white-knuckled death grip on the armrests.

The man's blood ran cold, and he turned on his heel, disappearing from his son's stricken view. He leaned against the end cap of the stacks, drawing slow breaths, fighting not to drown in the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

“See you at dinner, you fucking asshole,” Legolas growled under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so humbled by the kind things you guys are saying about my fic. HauntedPoem pointed out that you guys might like more photos of this world that I've created. I'll be including more things I find that capture the mood and aesthetic of this world in coming chapters. 
> 
> Legolas' emotional theme for this chapter is "[Thumbscrews](https://youtu.be/kkSZZFueuck)" by Jesus Lizard. It's a really ugly, bitter, panic attack-y song. [Here](http://azlyrics.biz/jesus-lizard-thumbscrews-lyrics/) are the lyrics, if you're interested.
> 
> As always, you can find fic-related updates and extras on my [tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Again, thank you so much for taking your time to leave reviews, kudos and bookmarks. It feels good.


	4. Chapter 4

His hands wavered as he stood in front of the door in the garage. Though, if he thought about it, he hadn't stopped shaking since that brief glimpse of his father in the stacks earlier that afternoon. Sweat ran in a chilly trickle down his spine, and the armpits of his t-shirt were nearly soaked. His nerves were an absolute train wreck. Finally, he found the strength to reach out and open the door.  
  
He stood in the utility room, pressed his damp palms to the cold metal top of the washing machine and took a steadying breath. "Anyone home?" He called.  
  
"In the kitchen, honey," came his mother's soft, warm voice. He followed the sound to find her standing alone in dark skinny jeans and a fussy top. Her dark brown hair was tied in an elegant knot on top of her head. He recalled ada sometimes tried to copy the style when he was busy at his desk, but he always looked bedraggled, bed headed. He shook his head to clear the comparison. Sabariel looked up at him, smile faltering. "Everything okay? You look… tired."  
  
"Yeah," he lied. "Just working hard. School, you know." He dropped his bag on the countertop and slumped into a chair at the table.  
  
"Don't worry," she smiled, "Only three and a half more years of uni, and then you're free."  
  
"So, basically all of uni, then," he groaned. “How was work?”  
  
“Same old, same old,” she sighed. “We’re curating a new exhibition of pre-War of Wrath propaganda pieces, and my aides are all driving me nuts right now.” She smiled and flipped the salmon that was sizzling on the stove.  
  
“Oh, I’m taking Professor Galdor’s History of Beleriand class. I bet I could do a paper on the exhibit,” Legolas said, eyes bright suddenly.  
  
“Well, I’ll give you a tour when you can swing by,” she offered, pausing to season the salmon with some fresh black pepper. Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he looked closer at the pan. "Only two pieces?" Her smile became a tight-lipped grimace.  
  
"Your father has informed me that something came up at the school that he needs to tend to," she said evenly in a mild tone. "Which, to be honest, I find kinda _funny_ , given that he was practically begging me to postpone my trip all day yesterday and today, and now he can't even be bothered to have dinner together before I go." Under her breath, she muttered, "Though I guess I know what I can expect from _that man_."  
  
"Yeah, well, ada’s not exactly the most reliable person in the world," Legolas hissed, so quick to anger now. “You think he’s some great guy, and then _bam_ , here comes the disappointment.” She pursed her lips and nodded in a long suffering way that she seldom showed her son. Remembering herself, the veil of remorse came crashing down over her face, schooling her lovely features.  
  
"You shouldn’t talk about your father that way, baby," she said. "He loves you so much, even though he has trouble showing it sometimes. He’s really working on it.” She watched her son for a moment with her big, sad eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off his hands as he fidgeted with his headphones. Setting back to work with the salmon, she continued, “Anyway, I shouldn't bother you with these little things. It's between your father and me.”  
  
"But things _are_ going better between you two, right?" He asked cautiously. “Like, there aren’t any… I don’t know, things you’re keeping from each other or something?”  
  
Her response was too bright, too hesitant, too hard. "Mmhmm. Things are getting much better. Don’t worry."  
  
"Mmm," he hummed in response. He knew that zealous shining in her eyes, the sort of nervous tic she’d picked up over the years of trying to keep everything from falling apart. She bent to pull a pan of steaming asparagus from the oven.  
  
"Baby, can you set the table?" As she bustled about, adding last touches and enough salt to taste, Legolas rose to grab plates, glasses and cutlery, and he set two places on the pale tabletop. "Grab a Vermentino from the cellar, won't you? One of the ones we picked up in Sardinia last year."  
  
"Chilled?"  
  
"What sort of question is that, silly?” She chuckled, a warm and puckish sound that always made him feel like everything was going to be fine. He shrugged. She was setting the dishes on the table when he returned, bottle in hand. He popped open the wine as she served their plates, then she took the bottle from his hands and sloshed the wine into their glasses. They sat, and she gave him a tired smile before taking a drink from her glass. Legolas ate with abandon.  
  
"Really good, nana," he said between bites. "Only had junk food and leftover takeaways all weekend." She smiled and sipped her wine as she watched her son devour his dinner. "Tauriel has the palate of a five-year-old."  
  
"Don’t talk with food in your mouth," she said, shaking her head in exasperation.  
  
"Nana, aren’t you going to eat?” Legolas asked when he noticed her watching him.  
  
“Is everything okay, Legolas?” She asked suddenly, the brightness and light gone from her eyes. “I mean, it’s fine, whatever it is you want to tell me. I’ll listen.” Legolas’ face fell, and he swallowed his mouthful of food. He tried to smile, but his heart suddenly gushed with worry and sadness again.  
  
“I’m just really stressed about school,” he began tentatively, after a fortifying gulp of his own wine. “I promise,” he lied. She watched him for a long, silent moment. Finally, her shoulders fell and she set down her wineglass, opting for her fork instead.  
  
“Well, if there’s anything you want to tell me, you know you can.”  
  
He pushed back the rising guilt and built a dam around his heart. “Actually,” he said, beginning to recite the speech he’d been practicing all afternoon. "I was thinking… Thinking that maybe, since I’ve been getting good grades so far, and like, since I don't really have many friends, since, you know, most of them went off to different schools... well, I think that I'd be able to make loads of new friends if I could move into the dorms on campus. And since I’m adult, it just makes sense for me to move out of my parents’ house, too… If you guys are okay with it."  
  
" _Well_ ," she began, then paused. "That was a lot of words in the space of one breath. I mean, I suppose it’s fine with me, though you know I’ll miss you. It’s just… that's something you'll have to take up with your father since he's in charge of budgeting the household." Legolas' shoulders dropped. “Not only will we have to pay for the cost of rent, but we’ll also have to increase your allowance.”  
  
"Oh," he said, deflated. "Yeah, I suppose that makes sense."  
  
"Of course," she said, smirking, "It'd mean way more takeout and junk food in your future." He breathed out a sharp laugh.  
  
"Oh, joy,” he joked, taking a sip from his glass. “So, what do you and grandma have planned?"  
  
"I’m only going to be there until Friday, so it’ll mostly just be us catching up," Sabariel said. "I'll probably take her to get her hair cut and get some new clothes. You know these days she's much more of a homebody. It started way back before you were born, shortly after Oropher passed, but these days… I don’t know."  
  
"Is she upset that ada and I aren’t coming along?" He asked. “I mean, he’s her son and all.”  
  
"She knows you're both busy with school," his mother assuaged him. "She’s fine. In fact, I think she's already put together a care package for you. Kept asking what snacks you liked these days." Legolas grinned fondly, as he set down his fork and finished his glass of wine. “Besides, she jokes that I’m more family to her now than her own son is, and that she’d rather see me anyway. You know how she jokes.”  
  
“Do you think she’ll make that lembas I like?” He asked hopefully.  
  
Sabariel shrugged. “I can put in your official request.”  
  
Legolas then nervously glanced at the clock on the stove. “Hey, nana," he said, "Is it okay if I do the dishes in the morning? I really need to get some homework done before class tomorrow." She leaned over to squeeze his hand.  
  
"Don't worry, Peg Leg," she said. "I've got it. Just remember to come say bye before you go to bed. I leave first thing tomorrow." He kissed her cheek, ignoring the childhood epithet, and dragged his bag up the stairs to his bedroom at the end of the long, open hallway.  
  
He dragged the door shut, cutting himself off from the echoes of the cavernous house. Immediately, he put his computer bag on his large drafting desk and flopped backwards onto his deep feather bed. The old iron frame creaked under the impact, but the blankets and pillows swallowed him instantly. He would miss this room when he moved, if his ada would let him. The warm wooden floors were welcoming. The walls were scattered with posters, paintings and souvenirs from travelling abroad with his parents. His records and books were organized in shelves across the room, next to his old record player. Over his white, iron headboard, a string of fairy lights was tacked up on the border of a colorful scarf he’d picked up in a marketplace in Jaipur. The windows opened upon a comforting view of the forest and the greenhouse and grapevines at the very edge of their land.  
  
He'd have to sort things out with Tauriel tomorrow. He shouldn't have been a dick to her. He'd have to skip his Quenya class with Professor Oropherion tomorrow, too. He had nearly dozed off when he heard a car pull into the driveway. With a jolt, he unplugged the fairy lights, hastily toed off his shoes, and scrambled to yank the pile of blankets over himself.  
  
The opening and closing of the garage door echoed through the house, followed by the cadence of Thranduil's boots tapping against the floor, and the thud of his briefcase on the kitchen table downstairs. Legolas' heart leapt into his throat, but he willed it down, and soon enough later, he fell into troubled sleep.  
  
  
  
Ada>You skipped class.  
  
Legolas scoffed in disbelief. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." He reached across the canteen table and stole one of Tauriel's chips. She swatted his hand, then returned to texting her new love interest.  
  
Me>You skipped dinner.  
Ada>I had to work.  
Me>How convenient.  
  
Two and a half minutes passed, and with the ticking of each second, Legolas prayed futilely that this would be the end of the discussion. His phone dinged again.  
  
Ada>I'm afraid it looks like we're going to have to discuss what happened.  
  
A wave of cold nausea threatened to suffocate Legolas. He took a long sip of his iced coffee, wiped his mouth on his hoodie sleeve, then began to type only to delete the message moments later. He did this four times before he finally hit send.  
  
Me>What is there to talk about?  
Ada>We can't keep avoiding each other.  
Ada>When will you be home tonight?  
Me>Hard to say. I'm really busy.  
Ada>Grow up, Legolas. Learn to face your problems.  
  
Legolas exhaled a shaky breath. Dread and anxiety pounded through his veins. If Tauriel noticed how withdrawn and preoccupied he was, she didn't say anything. Lunch ended too early, and Legolas coasted on autopilot through his last class that day, Organic Chem with Professor Feren, who glowered any time his eyes connected with Legolas.  
  
Then, the drive home was excruciating. The only positive was that it seemed to last less than a minute, which (when he thought about it) was its own torture in itself. Most of the lights were off in the house, he could see through the floor-to-ceiling walls that enclosed most of the architectural building, but he could see the kitchen light still shining faintly through the rest of the bottom storey. Any hope that he'd avoid this terrible conversation with his father tonight died then, as the route to his bedroom led straight through the kitchen, and his father was sure to be waiting for him there. He sat in his car for five full minutes before he finally killed the lights and passed through the barrier into his own personal hell. His feet were heavy.  
  
As he entered the kitchen, he saw that his father was resting his head against the arm he’d slung over the back of the leather sofa in the small sitting area next to the fireplace in the open kitchen area. Legolas stopped behind him, looking down with trepidation on the top of his father’s slumbering head. The man’s hair was a riotous spill of silk that framed his face, blank in sleep. He’d loosely clutched his glasses in the hand perched atop the sofa back. Inexplicably, a complicated sort of relief flooded Legolas, and as he took in his father's sleeping figure, he felt a dam of distress breaking in his heart.  
  
The man in front of him was living a half life, torn between appointments with a well-meaning marriage counselor and shameful bouts of relief at a grungy glory hole. His misery could only be compounded by that grievous breach of boundaries that even now threatened to destroy their relationship. The precarious line this man must have to toe in order to keep his whole life from falling apart...  
  
Thranduil Oropherion had never seemed so small.  
  
Legolas quietly climbed the stairs and went to bed, woozy with melancholy.

  
  
Ada>Why the hell didn't you wake me up?  
Me>You were sleeping.  
Ada>Hence my question, Legolas.  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes and clicked his phone off. He ran his hands through his hair and chewed his lip, desperately wishing for a strong, black coffee after the night of restless sleep and early morning escape he'd made. He sank lower into his chair and struggled to listen to Professor Galion drone on about mitochondria.  
  
"Dude," Meludir whispered, leaning slightly towards Legolas, "put your fucking phone away. Galion keeps looking over." Legolas snapped his eyes towards the dour brunette at the front of the auditorium and was met with a tight-lipped frown of disapproval. He slid his phone into his bag and gave his teacher an apologetic nod. Professor Galion continued his droning. When that know-it-all Dwarf who always sat in the front row gave an answer that left Galion beaming, Legolas rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about _stuck up exchange students_.

After what felt like hours, Galion dismissed them, and the students rose and began to shuffle through the exits of the large auditorium. Meludir tugged his bag onto his shoulder and trudged behind Legolas. Meludir asked jovially, “Hey, what are you up to now? Any plans?"

Legolas looked at Meludir inscrutably for a moment. "I think I need to get drunk tonight," he answered miserably. Meludir breathed a bemused laugh.

"Should I ask?"

"There is not a fiber of my being that wants to talk about it," Legolas ground out.

"Everything gonna be alright, Legoland?" Meludir asked, concern etched in soft lines across his brow. He rested his open palm against Legolas' bicep.

"All I need is some rye whiskey," he answered with a smirk, "And the company of the most beautiful man in this entire damn city." Meludir rolled his eyes.

"Let me know when you find him," he answered, but a small smile twisted his lips. Affectionately, he added, “You pathetic fool.” Suddenly, a stroke of inspiration descended up Meludir, and decision made, he grabbed the sleeve of Legolas’ shirt and dragged him down the warm, wooden corridor of the old building. Conspiratorially, he hissed into Legolas’ ear, "C'mon, man, it's beer thirty. Let's ride victorious to the Halls of Mandos!"

"Who's pathetic now?" Legolas hissed back, struggling to keep up with Meludir’s pace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you guys in agony. Too bad I love some good tension. 
> 
> As per hauntedpoem's request, I'm adding some snapshots of the Eryn Lasgalen campus. Look [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZLW5ydjV3VVJjRHc), [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2Zd1Z3TVhhdjBEenc), [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZUlBXTjRQRDd3Q0E), [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2Zb0NwMlJhQ1BGRUk), [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZTExKYVdZZ0RKM28), and here. Some of the photos aren't the greatest quality, but it was very difficult to find the exact aesthetic that matched the University of Eryn Lasgalen, so bear with me.
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[What Difference Does It Make?](https://youtu.be/AZa8jHi1nkk)" by The Smiths, as it really captures his suspicions about his father's duplicitous nature.
> 
> Also, check out [this](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com/post/150022525671/meludir-moodboard-for-my-fic-sixteen-blue) Meludir moodboard post on my tumblr where you can find more fic-related updates and extras.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read, have a look at some of the location inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZYWZkOFNXVmloSTg) and [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZczhrS1VGM2FWYmM) are the inspiration for the Halls of Mandos Pub.
> 
> [This](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZYUxNUFFmVXJ0XzQ) is the inspiration for Thranduil's home office.

“You know what?” Legolas demanded, voice a boorish slur of saliva and acute rage. He leaned an elbow against the bar top and slung the other arm across Meludir's shoulders. This garnered the pair a few nasty glances from the older locals quietly chatting over pints around the vast, cavernous pub. The high, coffered ceilings were heavy with neoclassical detail and opulent chandeliers. Meludir gazed blankly at one of the grand paintings hanging from the wall and hummed. "I don't even _like_ astronomy! Who likes astronomy?"  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Meludir asked his beer, struggling to remain upright under the force of Legolas' emotional bombast.  
  
"Exactly! Exactly!" Legolas said triumphantly. "What is _anyone_ talking about? 'S all sex and betrayal and football matches and boob jobs. What is _anyone_ talking about?" Meludir took a steadying breath.  
  
"Like..." He said. "Like..." He said again. "What the actual fuck? What are you even talking about?" Legolas slapped his free hand against the bar top.  
  
"That's just it, Meludir," he insisted. "It doesn't matter. Like, the boundaries. The things that fill the empty spaces. It's all a big electric storm, Meludir. No man's a monolith, you know what I'm saying?"  
  
"No, man. No, I don't know."  
  
Legolas swiveled in his chair and gazed hard at Meludir, his eyes red and unfocused. "I'm going through some shit, man. Some really fucked up shit."  
  
"C'mon, man,” Meludir said hazily, reaching over to gently squeeze Legolas’ wrist. “You know you can tell me anything,” he promised, squeezing again in affirmation. "You know I love you. Like, for real." Anxiety worked its way through the alcohol haze that fuzzed out all of Legolas' sense, but the warmth and depth of Meludir ' brown eyes pushed it away.  
  
"It's about my father," Legolas blurted. Meludir quirked an eyebrow, then rubbed a small circle into Legolas' wrist with his thumb. Legolas' heart pounded sluggishly in his chest, and a terrible bubble of word vomit worked its way up his throat. Legolas realized too late that it wasn't word vomit at all, as he spewed down onto the floor between his parted legs. "Fuck," he groaned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm.  
  
"Hey, buddy," snapped the wizened bartender, "Get your guy the fuck out of here!" Meludir apologized profusely and shoved a wad of cash towards the angry man. He grabbed Legolas by the shoulder and guided him stumbling out the door. Once outside, Legolas jerked free of his grasp and marched like a disoriented doe into the alley next to the pub.  
  
"Where are you going?" Meludir shouted, chasing after him. Legolas leaned his forearms against the wall next to the dumpster and heaved his guts against the pavement. Meludir pulled Legolas' hair back and rubbed his lower back. "Fucking idiot," he said with a soft smile.  
  
Legolas heaved until nothing else came out. For a moment, he rested his head against his forearms. In a flash, he burst into action again, rounding on Meludir, throwing the short brunette off guard. "He sucked my dick! He sucked my fucking dick!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Ada!" Legolas groaned, collapsing against Meludir, who held him with strong, if shaky, arms. "My own fucking father!"  
  
"What the fuck, man?" Meludir demanded, drawing his head back in shock. "I think I'm missing some important information."  
  
"He didn't know it was me."  
  
"But…” Meludir’s eyes screwed in confusion, “you knew it was him?"  
  
"Fuck no!" Legolas shouted, then quietly, he mumbled something against Meludir's shoulder. “You’re so warm.”  
  
"I can't hear you."  
  
"I don't know. I'm just fucking doubting everything right now. I don't know what's happening, and I'm super scared," he slurred miserably, spitting out tendrils of Meludir's hair.  
  
"Legolas, this is pretty heavy."  
  
"You think I’m disgusting," Legolas sighed. "I'm fucking pathetic. I can see it in your eyes." Meludir shifted and dragged Legolas to a sitting position across the alley from the spray of vomit. He plopped down next to the sniffling man and grabbed his face in cool hands.  
  
"You’re not disgusting," Meludir said sweetly. "I mean, when you’re puking, you are, but you know I think the world of you, man." Legolas' head dropped and Meludir pulled his friend's upper body to rest against his own. They sat in silence for a while. Then Meludir whispered, "Did you like it?" Legolas could feel the man's chest begin to rise and fall more quickly. Red hot heat crept up his neck.  
  
"Yes," he sighed miserably, wishing he could honestly deny it. "And it makes me feel sick."  
  
They fell into silence for a few more moments. "You know, it's actually not that strange," Meludir began. "Like, psychologists talk about that kind of thing all the time. You know, in some cultures, it's not even taboo."  
  
"What?" Legolas asked dumbly, helplessly.  
  
"I mean, it's common for people to fantasize about father figures," Meludir continued. "In fact, and I can't believe I'm even saying this, but I've had fantasies like that."  
  
"You never even knew your father," Legolas moaned.  
  
"Still," he said. Legolas could hear Meludir's heart pounding a rapid beat.  
  
"Still nothing."  
  
"Your father’s a really attractive man," Meludir said quietly. "I mean, not as attractive as you, but... If that was something you wanted, you know, I guess I could kind of, you know... understand." Immediately, Legolas jerked away from Meludir's steady, thrumming heat. He shoved himself up to his feet and pointed a shaking finger right in Meludir's face.  
  
"I do _not_ want that." He stood, trembling with anger and alcohol, glaring at Meludir with an unwavering force. He growled and then marched out of the alleyway.  
  
"Where are you going _now_?" Meludir shouted, rising to chase after him.  
  
"Taxi," he answered bluntly. "Too drunk to deal with this shit right now."  
  
"Legolas," Meludir pleaded, grabbing his hand to stop him. Legolas whipped around to glare at him. "Please don't be mad at me. I didn’t mean..." He opened and closed his mouth again, searching for the right words. Legolas grit his teeth, looking down into Meludir's sweet, anguished face. He sunk his fingers into the shorter man's hair and pulled him in for a rough, brief kiss. Meludir's eyes grew like saucers. "Oh."  
  
"I can't stay mad at you," Legolas breathed. “Not my sweet Melu.” Meludir's mouth snapped shut. He sighed shakily.  
  
"Legolas, come home with me," he said breathily, pulling Legolas' hips towards his own. Legolas shook his head, then swayed from the ensuing dizziness.  
  
"Both fucked up," Legolas said. "I need to be in my bed right now."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Meludir said. "I'm just feeling particularly brave tonight. Thought I’d give it a go." Legolas pressed a kiss against his temple.  
  
"Let's put a pin in this for now, okay?"  
  
Meludir grinned brightly with bleary eyes. "See you tomorrow, then. Here's your cab." Legolas gave his friend a brief glance before stepping in the cab and slurring out his address. He jolted in a panic when he realized he didn't have his bag, but then the belated memory of locking it in the trunk of his car after class filtered in through the haze and soothed the panic. He slurred out his address and patted his pockets for his phone. He tapped in his password and found, to his dismay, two missed messages.  
  
Ada >Okay, this is getting ridiculous.  
Ada>I didn't raise you to be a coward.  
  
Legolas snarled, then punched in a text with meaty fingers, stomach roiling as the car lurched around a corner. He nearly toppled over.  
  
Me>just woried if u get me alone you'll actually try to fuck me this time  
  
Immediately, he regretted hitting send, his heart beginning to pound as hot shame filled him completely. The response took less than a minute.  
  
Ada>How could you say that to me?  
Ada>Where are you?  
Ada>Answer me, goddammit.  
  
Legolas shoved the phone back into his pocket as he recognized the entrance to his neighborhood. "You can let me out here. I'll walk." The cabbie grunted, and Legolas paid him. He slid out of the backseat into the cool night air. Too soon, he reached the driveway of his family's massive home. He briefly considered just sleeping in his father's car, but the accusations of cowardice still stung, and he stumbled through the open garage and into the den of the lion.

  
The kitchen was empty as he passed through. He followed the dim light filtering through the doorway of his father's study down the central hallway. He stood in the archway of the office, and with swimming eyes, he took in the image of his father busy at work at his desk, hunched over paperwork, his hair piled into an untidy, high bun. The man didn't look up as the door jamb creaked under Legolas' weight. Legolas felt like a small, naughty child awaiting punishment.  
  
He could take the unending agony no longer and finally blurted, "Well, I'm here." Thranduil continued to scribble notes into a ledger. Silence fell on them again. Legolas grew angry. "Talk to me."  
  
"I was under the impression you didn't want to talk," the man finally said. He looked up and immediately noted, "You're drunk." The disappointment in his voice weighed heavily on the air, pissing Legolas off even more.  
  
"Yeah, so what?" He snapped, arms folded against his chest. His vision swam again. Thranduil's frown deepened.  
  
"Why are you coming into this fighting?" The gentle reprimand sent prickles of annoyance over his skin. Rage flared in Legolas' chest once more, and he marched forward, throwing himself onto the black leather chair across from his father’s glass desk.  
  
"Don't do that fucking... psychoanalysis thing," Legolas snapped. Thranduil stared at his son a moment, face blank but for the line of concern scrunching his forehead. He rose from his chair and came to kneel in front of Legolas. The sudden proximity to his father cooled Legolas’ temper, and he drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself and staring anywhere but at the man crouched in front of him, just within reach but carefully distant. He could feel his father's intense stare on him, but he chose to ignore it.  
  
"I never meant to hurt you," he said. Legolas ached to hear the guilt and woe rolling in waves from his father's tongue. He reeled at how very _careful_ Thranduil was being, so frigid, so markedly distant. He realized that his father was acting like Legolas was some sort of dangerous animal that could strike out at any second. Suddenly, Legolas felt even more like an idiotic, selfish child. His legs slipped back to the floor, and he turned to look down at his father. “It was foolish of me to even…”  
  
"You didn't hurt me," he whispered, staring at the man’s chin.  
  
Legolas finally brought himself to meet his father’s sorrowed eyes. What he found there was a curious blend of something warming, disconcerting, familiar and, at the same time, utterly alien. The tension and the agony fled his body, and he suddenly felt like such a fool for having built his father up to be some villain, some heinous, perverted monster. This was his silly, dorky, doting ada kneeling there before him, and absolutely nothing could change that. So, Legolas, upon later reflection, could not fathom why he said what he said next. He’d eventually blame the booze still coursing through his system.

"Quite the opposite, if I recall correctly."  
  
Thranduil blanched, his breath stuttering in his chest. "Yes, well, that's..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose that's true." He stood up, respecting the buffer of safe distance between them, a buffer they’d never needed before. Leaning against the edge of his desk, he looked down at Legolas with arms folded against his chest, placid, unreadable. Legolas looked up at him expectantly from the deep nest of the chair.  
  
"You look like you want to say something."  
  
"Do I?" Thranduil asked, but it didn’t sound much like a question.  
  
"Well, you wanted to talk. So, talk."  
  
Thranduil shook his head, eyes cast down in a self-loathing grimace. "Now that you're sitting here, I quite find myself at a loss for words." He walked back to his own red, vinyl, sharply modern chair and sat down slowly. "Besides, you're drunk, and I consider that a very unfair advantage right now." Legolas laughed mirthlessly. He stood up and walked behind the desk, standing in front of his father, who swiveled around to face the slightly swaying youth. Legolas lifted his heavy, tired arms and rested his forearms on Thranduil's shoulders. Thranduil seized, caught in a tense stasis. Legolas pressed his forehead to Thranduil’s. Thranduil gritted his teeth.

"I'm so, so sorry, Legolas. I don't know what else to say."  
  
" _Are_ you sorry?" Legolas wondered, his voice light and curious, a lie very haphazardly papered over the nearly hysterical mess of emotions roiling beneath. His pulled away from Thranduil, now resting his shaking palms on the man’s broad shoulders.  
  
"Of _course_ , I am." Thranduil's lips tightened and his nostrils flared.  
  
"Why?" He dragged out the syllable almost intolerably long.  
  
"Surely, you don't want me to say it out loud." Legolas remained still, waiting. The light in his eyes was unkind. Thranduil's breathing grew distressed, and he finally said through gritted teeth in a cracking voice, "Because I sucked your cock."  
  
"Yeah, practically choked on it, didn't you?" Legolas laughed without an ounce of mirth, pushing away an errant tendril of hair from his father’s livid face with a too-hot hand. The touch seared across Thranduil’s cheekbone.  
  
"Legolas," came his father's terse warning. The man thrummed with ire. "This is highly inappropriate. You're drunk." Legolas ignored his words, but he pulled away from his father anyway, leaving only his knees pressed against the older man's, just keeping his balance.

“You fucking coward,” he spat. Thranduil’s eyes blazed.

“What did you just say to me?” Thranduil hissed, low and deadly.

“You _fucking_ heard me.” He jerked away and caved to the need to put distance between the two of them. He stood at the glass patio doors, staring out into the inky blackness. He was ashamed of his own reflection in the glass. His expression and voice became glacial. "You're a coward. You won't even let us speak our native language because you're so fucking ashamed of what your colleagues might think. And it makes me wonder if at any point that night... did you suspect _even once_ that it was my cock down your throat?"  
  
Thranduil breathed hard, anger and emotion fighting to spill forth. His knuckles were white from his death grip on the armrests of his chair. His full lips were set in a hard line. "Absolutely not," he hissed. "And to even suggest such a thing..."  
  
"Why don’t I fucking believe you, you fucking pervert?” Legolas shouted, turning to glare at his father with feral vengeance. Thranduil finally snapped, having had enough of his son’s blatant disrespect. He rose from his chair and came to a stop mere centimeters from Legolas, who pressed back against the glass as fear overcame him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such fire in his father’s cold eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” he snarled, and his voice wrapped around Legolas’ heart like a flaming whip. He lashed out, striking Thranduil’s cheek with an open hand. A pale pink imprint rose on the man’s fair skin. Thranduil seized his son’s wrists and pinned him bodily against the glass. Legolas struggled but was ultimately helpless against his father’s considerable strength.

“Let me go, you asshole,” Legolas whimpered, jerking against the strong hands. Thranduil pressed him tighter against the glass.

“You will not curse at me in my own house," Thranduil growled into Legolas’ ear. "And you will _never_  strike me again. Do you understand?"

“Or what?” Legolas spat back. “You’ll spank me?”

“You aren’t a child anymore,” he answered evenly. “Despite what your behavior would suggest.” Legolas cheeks burned red, and he slumped against his father. He didn’t respond, eyes filling with tears again. Thranduil took mercy on him finally and relinquished his wrists. He leaned back against the top of his desk and watched Legolas in anguish. “Legolas-”

“Ada,” Legolas whispered, looking up at his father, desperate and exhausted.

“Sorry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel,” Thranduil said, and Legolas knew he was telling the truth.

“You shouldn't say sorry," Legolas said. The light in his eye's was nearly diminished. Empty, he said mirthlessly, "Accidents happen every day."  
  
"I think that 'accident' is hardly the word for having sucked your son off at a glory hole," Thranduil said miserably, shame eating at the edges of his vision.

Legolas’ stomach flipped as the man spoke, such a horrible rush it was to hear their sins spoken out loud. Legolas finally broke eye contact with his father, and the older man nearly melted in relief. Legolas turned his back on the man, and he leaned his forehead against the cool glass door, shoulders sunken.  
  
"I think I knew it was you," Legolas said, voice small and weak, almost inaudible. Thranduil's heart dropped into his stomach, and his blood pounded cold through his veins.  
  
"What did you just say?"  
  
Legolas slunk back to the leather seat and curled into the fetal position on the cushion, kicking the throw blanket to the floor, his back still to Thranduil. His voice was slightly muffled, damp with tears, when he said, "I think I knew. I saw your jacket in the lamp light. I saw your shoes under the stall door. I heard your voice. How could it have been anyone but you? I could have put the pieces together, but I think a part of me just pushed it into the back of my mind. But then I saw your nose and your mouth through the hole, and I think it had all started to come together, but by that time, your mouth felt so good, I just needed to come. Nothing else mattered."  
  
"Legolas!" Thranduil hissed, rising in red-faced rage. "You don't know what you're saying right now. You're drunk, and you're talking nonsense. Now, get up and go to bed before you further embarrass yourself." Legolas heaved himself into a sitting position and put his head into his hands.  
  
"Elbereth, ada,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I don’t know why I said that.” He got up, face wet with drunken, miserable tears, but he stopped in front of Thranduil, staring up at his father, immobilized by the disgust he saw in the man’s eyes. “How do I forget what happened?" Legolas breathed, voice cracking under the strain of repressed anguish. The scent of alcohol and hot breath filled Thranduil’s senses. Tears began welling in Legolas’ cool, blue eyes. "It's eating me up. I never asked for this."  
  
“I _am_ so sorry. I don’t know what else to say,” Thranduil answered, hands on Legolas’ biceps. “We just have to forget. Now, go to bed. We’ll talk more when you’re sober.” Legolas nodded with a heavy sigh. He pulled himself free from his father’s hands and turned to leave. In the doorway, he froze when he heard Thranduil ask, “You don’t really believe it, do you? That you knew it was me?” His lips twisted into a grimace. Legolas remained frozen. “If it’s true… Well, Legolas, there are no words for how disturbing that would be. The ramifications… You’re my son. My _child_. It just simply cannot be true, and I know that if you think hard about what I’m saying, you’ll realize that.” Legolas’ heart grew cold. “You’re a confused little boy who can’t process this terrible, regrettable thing that happened. I don’t know what else to say.”  
  
The spell was broken. Legolas practically ran from the office. A few moments later, Thranduil heard his son’s bedroom door slam.  
  
Thranduil sat rigid in his chair, palms resting against the top of his desk. He breathed slowly, body thrumming with shock, like the skin of a drum being battered with fists. His heart beat in his chest as a bird fighting for freedom that would never come. He reckoned that he was practically dying of thirst.  
  
That night, he slept fitfully. Rest couldn’t possibly come easily when his son’s muffled sobs rang through their home, nor when they echoed in his head long after the halls fell silent.

 

  
"Where's lover boy?" Legolas asked as he barged into Tauriel's apartment. She looked up from the couch with a nod in his direction, as he helped himself to a Coke from the fridge.  
  
"Recuperating at his place, I imagine," she said mischievously. Legolas smirked.  
  
"You're an animal, Tau, and I'm terrified of you."  
  
"Ugh. Slut shaming is creepy, Legoland," she said, sliding over to give him some room to sit. "You look like absolute horse shit."  
  
"Hangovers'll do that to you," he grimaced. "Not even sure how I got home last night. I remember having a conversation with my ada. I'm pretty sure it went okay. I mean, he didn’t kick me out.” He cracked open the Coke and propped his feet on the coffee table. "Didn't see you at school today." She laughed.  
  
"Maybe I needed to recuperate, too," she answered with a sly grin. "Why'd you get trashed on a Tuesday night?" He took a long drink from the can.  
  
"Because life is hard," he said grimly. “And miruvor is tasty.”  
  
"Legolas," she said, turning to touch his arm. She wore concern like a mask. "It's not good to be drinking by yourself. Like, that's not a good habit to form."  
  
"I wasn't alone. I went out," he sighed. "Meludir went with me." At that, she pulled back, a tiny smirk fighting her lips again. Legolas rolled his eyes. “Fine. Say what you’re obviously trying so hard not to say.”  
  
"Will you two just fuck already?" Tauriel said impatiently.

“I do not now nor have I ever needed your advice on the topic of my lovelife.”

"Look, I know you always insist that he's just a really good friend of yours, but I've seen the way he looks at you. That boy is thirsty as hell." Legolas didn't answer, just stared at the TV which played some stupid reality show at low volume. "Fine. Don't answer me."  
  
"Just watch TV, Tau," Legolas pleaded. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, but she eventually returned her attention to the TV. Legolas pulled his phone out of his pocket.  
  
Meludir>Hey you  
Meludir>Had fun last night. Looking forward to seeing how much fun we can get up to a bit more sober  
  
Suddenly, Legolas remembered flashes of Meludir's warm eyes and the brush of their lips in the streetlights. He flushed brightly.  
  
Me>Yeah, me too.  
Me>What are you up to Friday night?  
Meludir>Study group until 7. Want to meet up after?  
  
A few moments passed while Legolas tried to focus on the TV, but his eyes were drawn like a magnet to his phone.  
  
Meludir>Legolas you know I’ve liked you for a really long time right  
Me>Yeah, Meludir, I know. I was just waiting for you to be ready.  
Meludir>oh, were you, now?  
Meludir>okay good. Meet at Lindir’s on Friday at 7:45?  
Me>Perfect. See you in class. :)  
  
"Who's that?" She asked, eyes glued to the TV screen. The shit-eating grin was back on her face.  
  
"No one," Legolas answered blandly.  
  
"Seriously, though, please just fuck him already," she said.  
  
"Shut up, Tau," Legolas said, swatting her leg.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hopefully I put you out of some of your misery and gave you the confrontation you wanted. You'll have to wait for the next chapter for our boys to have a real talk about what happened. Please don't murder me?
> 
> Here's the now obligatory emotional theme for Legolas for this chapter, "[Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)](https://youtu.be/dEghu3No8Bc)" by The Doors.
> 
> I'm working on a couple more character moodboards for this fic, and I'll get those to you guys on the next chapter. In the meantime, you can check out my [tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) for fic-related updates and extras.
> 
> And of course, I want to give another huge thanks to you guys for giving kudos, leaving reviews, and bookmarking. It's awesome getting feedback.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that not everyone may know who Meludir is. He's a Hobbit movieverse character who had no lines, but when you have a face like [this](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZMHpFZVIwazRPX2M), well... Anyway, that's him. You can see why everyone in Mirkwood has a crush on him.
> 
> Also, a while back, a tumblr user called [Berbagai](http://megatruh.tumblr.com) posted an original piece of modern Thranduil wearing glasses, and it kind of became my mental image of Professor Oropherion. [Here's](http://megatruh.tumblr.com/post/145663325430/can-you-also-draw-bespectacled-thranduil-i-like) the picture, but be sure to check out their tumblr for more awesome stuff.

“How was class?" Thranduil asked, and though he asked with a studied, bland expression, he couldn’t bring himself to look up when he heard his son pause in the doorway. Legolas drew a deep breath and slumped into the kitchen, bag trailing behind him. He felt uneasy as he passed behind his father’s tall frame bent in concentration over the stove, hair twisted up into a messy bun, a smudge of sauce on his cheek. His pale grey sleeves were hastily pushed up to his elbows, and he’d fastened Sabariel's ruffled apron around his lean waist. Legolas was struck with the novel thought that he could see how his mother had fallen in love with Thranduil once upon a time. The man took a sip from the wine glass sitting on the counter.  
  
“Same old, same old,” Legolas answered finally, eventually flopping into his usual seat at the table.  
  
“Any homework?”  
  
“I did it at Tauriel's after class,” he answered.  
  
“Was she working on the class reports I asked her to do?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, you were with her, weren’t you?”  
  
“If you need to talk to Tauriel about TA stuff, you can text her.”  
  
“Fine. Hungry?” He asked, eyebrow quirked and lips tight, though he still studiously avoided Legolas’ gaze. The young man came to stand next to his father, looking down incredulously at the hissing contents of the pan. Thranduil grew tense, and Legolas tried to ignore it, opting instead to grimace at the odd lumps of some inscrutable vegetable material sizzling in greasy brown sauce.  
  
“Please don’t tell me this is dinner.”  
  
“Well, it's supposed to be aubergine teriyaki,” he said apologetically. “Thought I'd try my hand at both vegetarian and Japanese in one go.” He poked at the mass with the spatula, and grey water oozed out.  
  
“Ambitious. And did you make rice to go with it?” Legolas asked in a tone that was dangerously close to being patronizing. Thranduil licked his teeth self-consciously. He set the spatula aside and released a heavy sigh.

“Ah. That.”

“Adar, if you didn't have nana, you'd probably starve to death.” Legolas snapped open the fridge and began rummaging for leftovers.

“I _can_ cook, you know,” Thranduil protested. “Usually.”

Finding nothing satisfactory in the fridge, Legolas grabbed some tomatoes, mushrooms and the half an onion that sat wrapped in plastic wrap. “We're not eating that. Move, please,” he commanded as he flicked off the gas burner and took the pan off the range. Thranduil gave him a wide berth, leaning against the far counter with his wine glass cradled in his hand. Legolas set about chopping up the veg with neat, if slow, swipes of the knife. Thranduil contemplated balling up and trashing the recipe he’d printed out.  
  
“Any way I can help?” He asked, sounding uncannily out of his element.  
  
“Yeah, get out of the way,” Legolas answered as he began sautéing the tomatoes in splashes of olive oil. “And find me the basil. Please.” As his father searched, Legolas filled a pot with water and set the range flames on high. Eventually, he felt his father's eyes on him, and he turned towards the man. “What?”  
  
“When did you learn to cook?” He regarded Legolas with soft, proud eyes. Legolas’ stomach flipped.  
  
“I help nana,” he answered simply, waving off the unspoken admiration.  
  
“Ah,” Thranduil said. “At least we know you'll be able to survive on your own.” Legolas looked across the island as his father sat down at the dining table with his glass and the dwindling bottle of red wine.  
  
“Funny you should mention that,” Legolas began sheepishly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”  
  
“You want to live in the dorms,” Thranduil cut him off. Legolas looked up at him with confusion in his eyes. “Your naneth mentioned it before she left. I already contacted a certain RA to get you a private room in Kingshall.” Legolas’ eyes widened, and he nodded excitedly, moving to tear open the package of capellini he’d found in the pantry.  
  
“So, it’s okay?” He asked brightly.  
  
“I think it's for the best, given what-” He paused. Legolas’ chest tightened. “Given that you're a grown man now. You need your own space. In fact, your mother and I’ve been discussing it for a while already.” Legolas was silent a moment as a thousand thoughts buzzed around in his head.

“Is this about…” He began. “What did I say to you last night?” Thranduil blanched and swallowed quickly. Suddenly, the distance of the kitchen bar between them gave him no strength or resolve. “I’m sorry to bring it up again, but I’ve honestly been worried all day, because I don’t remember much of last night.” Thranduil took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he thought.

“Well, you told me how you’re torn up about what happened.” He looked down at the spectacles in his hands and searched for the right thing to say. “As well you should be,” he quickly added. “We agreed that last night was not the appropriate time to be having, well, _this_ conversation.”

“And we _are_ having this conversation right now?” Legolas asked gravely. “I just… I need advice or help or… And it’s not like I can ask Tauriel or nana.” Thranduil nodded solemnly.

“No, I know.”

Legolas paused what he was doing and looked across the kitchen at his father. “Did I hit you last night?”

“Blame the booze,” Thranduil answered hollowly. “Elbereth knows I’ve done worse under the influence.” Legolas bit his lip as his cheeks flushed, and he returned to adding the finishing touches to the sauce.

Legolas frowned. “I think I remember that we kind of agreed that it… That what happened wasn't anyone's fault? Right? Because I don’t blame you. I thought I did, but-”  
  
“Is that all you remember?” Thranduil’s voice was mild, patiently inquisitive.  
  
“Why?” Legolas’ head shot up in alarm. “What did I do?” Thranduil shook his head dismissively. Legolas paused. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I didn't say anything stupid, did I?” He asked, a brief flicker of concern flashing through the placid mask he wore. “I just… I want to put this whole horrible thing behind us.”  
  
“I feel the same,” Thranduil said honestly. Less honestly, he added, “But no, you didn’t say anything stupid. We didn't really cover much of anything. You were pretty drunk, as you say.”  
  
“I’m really sorry,” he swore, finally looking his father in the eyes for the first time since he’d arrived home. Thranduil’s features fell, and the arches of his cheekbones tinged pink. “Can we please talk now?” He asked delicately. “I have a lot of questions.”  
  
“Yes, I imagine you do,” Thranduil replied gravely, rising to help set the table for dinner. “But we should eat dinner first, at the very least.” Legolas lifted the pot of boiling pasta, carrying it over to the sink to drain it in the colander. His fingers slipped on the oily handle, and the scalding hot water splashed his wrist. He hissed and fumbled with the pot before pulling his hand away rapidly to assess the damage. Thranduil was at his side without thinking. He grasped the raw wrist gingerly and cast a worried glance over the slightly inflamed skin. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“No, no,” Legolas grimaced. “There wasn't much water left in the pot.” He looked up at his father's concerned face, noticing the teriyaki sauce still swiped across the man's high cheek bone.  
  
“Here, you’ve got something-” Legolas licked his thumb and wiped away the sauce casually. The sensation caught Thranduil off guard. “There.” Legolas was about to attend to the pasta again, but something in his father's appraising eyes arrested him completely.  
  
“You’re so much like your mother,” Thranduil said softly, face lined with melancholy. “You have her eyes and her smile. Her gestures. Her temperament.” He lifted a tendril of Legolas’ wild hair with the tips of his long fingers. “Except for this. This is _mine_.” The word rang with fierce pride as he gazed upon his son’s blonde mane, so perfectly matched to his own. Legolas froze as a tense moment passed between them. Thranduil finally relinquished his hold of Legolas and shook his head softly, admonishing himself for something he wasn’t able to name. He pulled away and returned to setting the table and serving food.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, eating slowly, lost in their own thoughts. At length, Legolas heard his father ask softly, cautiously, “Why didn't you think you could come out to me? I never once spoke against such a thing. Why did you think I’d be anything but supportive?” The sadness in Thranduil's eyes twisted Legolas' heart, and suddenly shame crashed down on him for ever having doubted this man's love for him.

“I’m sorry. I just needed time to wrap my head around some things.” They continued eating for a while before Legolas grew visibly agitated and dropped his fork onto his plate. Defensively, he said, “You were always talking about legacy and carrying on the family name. And… And you’re just so conservative, no offense. Like, everything has to be your way.”  
  
“Well,” Thranduil started, searching for the words to say. “I won’t take _that_ as the insult it undoubtedly is.” He wiped at the corners of his mouth with his neatly folded napkin and then took a sip of wine. He opened and closed his mouth a few times in hesitation before he said, “Legolas, you know I’m perfectly happy with you being yourself, no matter what that entails. I’ve never made your decisions for you. At least, not the ones that are important. I’ve always been here to support you and guide you when you asked for it.” Legolas nodded, mute, contrite. “I’ve probably been _too_ lenient, truth be told.” They fell into a silence once more. At length, Thranduil ventured again, voice wrought with concern now, “Does Tauriel know? That you’re bisexual? I mean, you shouldn’t cheat on her. It isn’t right.” Legolas' eyebrow quirked in an awkward grin, and he bit back a sharp snort of laughter. Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know how much of a hypocrite I am.”

“No, it isn’t that,” he said, looking down at his hands in his lap. “She was my... How does she say it?” Legolas pondered for a moment. “Oh, yeah, my beard. We were never together like that. She’s like my big sister.” He shook his head and chewed his lip nervously before blurting out, “And… Ada, I’m actually  _gay_ , so...”

“I… You, uh…” He took a sip of wine. “I really don't know what to say to that," he said, taking another sip of wine. He began to speak once more, but thinking better of it, he took a third sip. He set down his glass resolutely. “I mean, not the gay thing. Which is fine. The beard thing. So, you _both_ lied to your mother and me?” He laughed. “Why should Tauriel go along with… Why on… I mean, the fact that you felt the need to go to such lengths to hide yourself…” Thranduil found himself quite at a loss for words. He dropped his head into his hands and said in a muffled voice, “I feel like your mother and I really dropped the ball somewhere.” Something clicked in his head, and he jerked back up with a dangerous expression. “Wait, your naneth isn’t in on this, too, is she?”

“No, no, of course not,” he sighed. “I was just trying to figure myself out, and Tauriel happened to figure me out long before I did. I don't know. It wasn't you, and it certainly wasn’t nana. I just wanted to be sure before I told you guys, because things have been so rough between you two for a long time, and I didn't want to-”

“The problems between your mother and I should never have gotten in between our relationship with you.”

“Wait, so, I guess that’s your big problem, then, isn’t it?” Legolas asked, sudden realization striking him. “Is that why you two aren't doing so well?”

“Is what?”

“That you're gay,” Legolas said, but as the words left his mouth, they rang in his ears and lit his face with bashful scarlet. The word was fine when he applied it to himself, but when it applied to his father, it suddenly seemed so taboo and so uncomfortably sexual. Thranduil gave a small, warm smile, and Legolas felt himself withering under the realization that his father knew something Legolas was missing.

“I'm not gay, ion,” Thranduil said patiently.

“But,” Legolas cut in, his heart already pounding. He cringed as he said, “The bathroom-”

“I'm not straight, either,” Thranduil interrupted, having the good grace to appear utterly uncomfortable as well. “But I've known that about myself for a very long time. Your mother knows, too. It was never a secret between us.” Legolas swallowed hard. Thranduil poured each of them new glasses of wine.

“So, she’s okay with you… What you do with other men isn’t a secret?” Again, he felt like slapping his own face as soon as he finished speaking. He wished a balrog would drag him down to the fiery depths, but a sick curiosity spurred him on. Thranduil looked down at his plate, training his attention on what to say next.

“Ion, there's no excuse for my behavior,” he admitted. “It would probably break your mother's heart to know that I had... conducted affairs with strangers, not to mention with…” He gestured between the two of them ever more uncomfortably. Legolas' cheeks burned brighter, and his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest. “I love her still. I think. I really do want to make it work. For a number of reasons.” He took another sip as Legolas watched him silently. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to keep this secret. All of it.” Legolas choked on his wine mid-sip.  
  
“I’d rather die than tell anyone what happened,” he swore, smearing the wine off his face with the back of his sleeve. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. His chest was tight, and he didn’t know why he felt like crying all of a sudden.  
  
Trying to cut the tension in the room, Thranduil joked, “Eru, what must you think of me? So, the secret’s out: your father isn't perfect. Now you know.”

“Hey,” Legolas said, trying to sound flippant but failing as his voice came out breathy. “I was there, too, you know. You're not the only guilty party.”

“You aren’t guilty,” Thranduil retorted, his voice now hard and serious. “You're young. You're supposed to make dumb mistakes.” Legolas nodded, contrite again. Thranduil sighed and leaned back in his chair, affecting the mean of calming down, but his tight grip on his wineglass belied his feelings. “By the way, you _do_ know about Grindr, right?” Legolas groaned in exasperation, hoping his ada wouldn't continue down this avenue of conversation. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but I’ve had enough to drink, so why the hell not? Legolas, why would you go to some grotty, disgusting shit hole? And without a condom?”

Legolas found himself staring at his father's strong hands grasping the stem of his wineglass, long fingers tapering down to short, manicured tips. Hearing the curse word coming from the man was so strange, and Legolas’ stomach lurched dizzyingly. “Are you sure you want to jump down that rabbit hole?” He asked shakily. Thranduil regarded his son with cautious, hooded eyes. He took a nonchalant sip of wine.

“Probably not, but my curiosity is piqued,” he answered. “And I assume this is the first and last time we’ll discuss matters such as these, so...”

“Well,” Legolas began, but his voice shook and his heart pounded hard as the humiliation of the scenario drove a crimson flush all the way to the tips of his ears. He mumbled something quickly, then busied himself with gathering their empty dinner plates. He'd reached the sink by the time his father asked him to repeat himself. He turned to face the man sitting at the table. “I was really nervous about losing my virginity.” He muttered, “Still am.”

“You're a…” Thranduil's chest grew tight as he looked upon the tall, blushing youth leaning against the countertop, chewing his lip. “A virgin, huh? No kidding.” Legolas continued washing the dishes, wishing again that a hole would open up in the floor beneath him. “I would have thought… And you wanted your first time to be with a complete stranger?”

“Well, yeah,” Legolas said defensively. “I mean, I’m still a virgin at _my_ age, so clearly the boys I know aren’t exactly lining up around the block to fuck me.” His temper cooled, but he was beginning to realize that there was something thrilling about using foul language in front of his father. He liked the feeling. He said grudgingly, “I'm just tired of pretending that I’ve had… relations. I just wanted it taken care of and forgotten, okay?” Legolas' words from the night before filled Thranduil all of a sudden, a rush of complicated emotion which left him feeling heady.

“Legolas,” Thranduil softly said. “You're still young. Besides, I'd imagine there aren't many who would pass up someone like you. You could find someone special. What about your friend Meludir? I don't know if I'm crossing any lines by saying this, but… He's absolutely stunning. Were I a good deal younger…” Something like anger rose in Legolas' gut for the briefest of seconds.

“Shame you're married, isn't it?” He snapped. “Though I guess that doesn't really matter to you, now that I think of it.” Thranduil was taken aback.

“Watch your tone, Legolas,” Thranduil warned, glaring at the top of Legolas' head, still bent over the sink, scrubbing angrily at the oily frying pan. “I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah? I’ve _had_ your help before,” Legolas hissed, “And honestly, I wasn’t impressed.” Thranduil jerked with the vicious realization of what Legolas was referring to, and he leaned back with a cruel snarl twisting his full lips, despite how his head swam with wine and emotion.

“That’s not what you led me to believe last night,” he said softly, not a shred of his tumultuous internal struggle showing through. Legolas’ eyes glowed alight with feral flames.

“Well,” he began, a perfect mirror of his father’s spite and malice, “you’ll be pleased to learn that Meludir and I actually have a date on Friday night.” He began drying the pan angrily.  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Thranduil answered sardonically. He emptied the bottle into his glass. Legolas smacked the now dry pan on the counter a little too hard and glared at Thranduil.  
  
“It’s very good,” he spat. “And I imagine he’s going to fuck me until I can’t walk, not that it’s any of your business.” The two now glared daggers at each other, intense anger and frustration just itching to erupt into a shouting match.  
  
“Then why did you feel it necessary to tell me?” Thranduil asked through gritted teeth.  
  
“You just seemed so interested,” he hissed.  
  
“I can assure you, I’m _really_ not that interested in horny teenagers fumbling around with each other.”  
  
“Is that so?” Legolas began, quickly running out of steam. He sighed, shaking his head. “I really like this guy, so maybe you could refrain from trying to fuck him. I hope that won’t be too much to ask, you know, since he’s apparently such an exquisite beauty, and we both know you have a thirst for young, pretty cock.” Thranduil didn’t immediately rise to the provocation. He set his wineglass down and leaned back against the chair again, spreading his legs slowly, resting his hands on his knees.

“And what if I do?” He asked calmly. Legolas was taken aback. He flushed an angry shade of pink again and fought to calm the erratic pounding of his heart. “What if I absolutely _adore_ young, pretty cock?” He rose and practically sauntered over to stand opposite his son, the kitchen island between them. “Hmm?”

Legolas tried to speak. He cleared his throat nervously. He thought he was going to either pass out or spontaneously combust. He wished he could look away from his father’s sparking eyes. The only thing he could manage to croak out was a pathetic “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m not going to fuck your little boyfriend, Legolas,” he said. "That's a line I would never cross." Legolas grew dizzy at the rate with which Thranduil could flit between emotions, because now, standing before him, was his normal, reassuring ada, not the cruel and undeniably sensual prick who had stood there moments before.

Shakily, Legolas tore himself away from the counter and walked around to the table, avoiding looking at his father. “But you just want me to know that you could if you wanted to, huh?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“And what _is_ this about?” Legolas begged, looking up into Thranduil’s red-rimmed eyes. He was surprised to catch the briefest flicker of bewilderment there.

“I…” Thranduil meandered, and in lieu of answering, he sat down at the table across from Legolas.

“You don’t know,” Legolas finished his sentence for him. Thranduil stared down at his lap for a while before he could bring himself to respond.

“Things aren’t going to go back to normal.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Legolas asked quietly. “How could they?” His gaze was drawn to his father’s mouth, where he suddenly became entranced with the slow draw of lip between teeth, followed by the glacial swipe of tongue against tender skin. A feeling in his chest swelled. He tamped down on it. “When is nana coming home?”

“Not soon enough,” Thranduil answered brusquely, rising from the table and putting space between them. “I… I need to rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a huge thanks to everyone who gave kudos, reviewed and bookmarked my humble fic. Feedback means a lot to writers, and I really appreciate you for taking that small amount of time to let me know what you think. :)
> 
> So, for this chapter, Legolas is kinda lost and at odds with the fact that the only person he can talk to is the actual source of all of his problems. Anyway, his musical theme is "[Nowhere To Run](https://youtu.be/KWCbbiIUbcA)" by My Brothers and I.
> 
> Also, if you're interested, you can follow me on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) for fic-related and fandom-related trash.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a couple days late. I was too busy in Shanghai and Tokyo to get any work done. I'll be in America for the next couple of weeks, so updates will continue to be infrequent, for which I sincerely apologize. I'll be back home in a fortnight, so expect regular updates to recommence then. Thanks for your understanding!
> 
> This chapter's a short, mostly gooey sweet one, but the next chapter will be pretty packed with intrigue and hotness. This one's an emotional detente after the trauma I caused you with the last chapter. Enjoy the awkward flirting.

“I'm so excited for our date tomorrow,” Meludir whispered into Legolas' ear. He pulled away with a cute smile, settling back into his stiff chair in the back of the lecture hall, and Legolas felt light for the first time in over a week. Meludir grinned and glanced over again at him. “I still can't believe you like me.”

“Melu,” Legolas whispered back, “you're too pure for this world.” Meludir bit his plump lower lip in a way Legolas had never seen him do before. His stomach did a little flip.

“Maybe I am,” he answered, leaning forward to cup his hands around Legolas' ear as he whispered, “but I still want to kiss you so hard right now.”

“I'm excited for tomorrow, too,” Legolas said as a grin masked a thousand lewd thoughts that had just sprung to mind. He squeezed the smaller man's knee. Professor Galion stepped up to the podium at the front of the hall and cleared his throat. Conversation lessened to silence, and he began the lecture. Legolas opened a new window on his computer screen and began typing notes, all the while trying to ignore the swirl of heat that Meludir stirred in his body.

The hour of charts and graphs and an unending stream of questions from _that Dwarf_ in the front row had nearly finished when Professor Galion signaled to his TA to begin passing out the stack of papers that had been sitting on the desk adjacent to the stage. “Now,” the professor began,”as you know, midterms are steadily approaching.” A distressed sigh came from many of the students.”Though, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I do not assign a midterm exam.”

A chorus of relieved “Oh, thank Eru” followed the announcement.

“However,” the dour man cut through, “your celebration is, I fear, premature. In lieu of an exam, I shall be assigning a group project to be due at the time of our previously scheduled midterm exam.” Legolas glanced over at Melu with a victorious grin, as he had already begun mentally assembling his study group; him, Melu and the transfer from Doriath down in the front row who always asked questions that made Galion smile proudly. “You will work in groups of three, and before you become too eager, I have already assigned random groups using your student ID numbers.” Professor Galion merely crossed his arms and tightened his frown against the sighs of disapproval blowing through the room. “You will find your groups listed after the instructions on the rubric that Erestor is passing 'round. You can contact your group members through the class email group. If you've any questions, you may email either of us or visit during office hours.”

Legolas glanced over at Meludir, who made a show of crossing his fingers in hope. As the papers finally reached them, Legolas quickly scanned through the group listings on the second page. “Oh, come on!” He growled under his breath as he read. “This has to be someone’s idea of a joke.”

GROUP 9  
Legolas Thranduilion  
Imrahil Son of Adrahil II  
Gimli Son of Gloin

Immediately, he felt eyes burning holes through him from across the room. “What's wrong?” Meludir asked seriously. Legolas looked up to see Gimli sitting on the other side of the auditorium, glaring directly at him. Meludir followed his line of sight. “Oh. _Him_.” Legolas nodded bitterly. “Oh, come on, Lego. I’m sure it won’t be too bad. It’s only a few study sessions.” Legolas said nothing as he watched Gimli crumple the paper and get up, marching right up to Erestor with steely purpose written on his bearded face. Legolas couldn't hear what was being said, but he knew it was unpleasant by the scowl on Erestor's face. Granted, Erestor usually wore a scowl.

Gimli was clearly not getting the answer he was hoping for, as he finally gave up trying to bargain with the unimpressed TA. He stomped back to his desk in his heavy combat boots and yanked up his stuff, finally reaching for the crumpled ball of paper on the floor, which he shoved in his bag with no small amount of embarrassment, Legolas was pleased to note. As he thundered past the two young men still seated in their row, he stopped to say, “You'd better not screw this up for me, Pointy Ears.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Beardy.”

Gimli cast the blonde a withering look, oozing with disdain and distaste. “Holy Ilúvatar, that guy hates you,” Meludir whispered as they began packing their backpacks.

“Yeah, well,” Legolas began, smug, “his dad came to speak with my ada during freshmen orientation back in September, like, trying to throw his weight around and get all this preferential treatment, and basically, ada told him what was what.”

“I imagine that was pretty humiliating for Gimli,” Meludir said thoughtfully, as the two rounded the corner and exited the ancient building.

“I think you're missing the point, Melu,” Legolas interjected. “These rich exchange students from the University of Erebor come in here, expecting everyone to bend over backwards, and that's just... It's not on. If they want to come to school here, they should follow our rules.”

“With all due respect, Legoland,” he argued softly, “we have a shared history of our people dumping all over theirs. I mean, I know things are getting better, but you know, maybe what we see as preferential treatment is really just trying to make up for that.”

“Ugh, you sound like Tauriel,” he answered.

“Social inequality is still a very real thing,” Meludir persisted.

“Okay, sure,” Legolas scoffed, “Yeah, we have a history of treating their ancestors poorly, but _they_ have a history of being thieving and untrustworthy.”

Meludir was quiet after that, brow furrowed in thought as the two walked toward the Student Union together. Finally, he smirked and said, “I think this project will be good for you.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Legolas demanded.

“Just that, at the very least, you'll have learned to be patient.”

“Who says I'm impatient?” Legolas asked, a smile fighting to dissolve his frown, all thoughts of the disagreement gone in an instant. “Now, hurry up. I want to find a quiet corner somewhere and kiss you hard until Tauriel shows up for our friend date.” Meludir flushed a little and nodded emphatically, grabbing the tall boy's hand.

“I know just the place," he said mischievously, pulling Legolas through the narrow hallway outside the main common area. Meludir abruptly stopped at a tapestry hanging at the end of the corridor. He pulled the tapestry aside, revealing a tiny, hidden alcove with a cushioned bay window. The two quickly slipped inside without being observed, and the tapestry flapped back into place behind them.

“How do you know this place?” Legolas whispered, pulling Meludir's supple body against his own. A tiny shiver shook through Meludir’s petite frame.

“Found it by accident,” he answered. “Quite literally stumbled upon it.”

“Accident, hmm?”

“I was... I was having a panic attack, and I sorta... stumbled..." Meludir answered sheepishly. Concern washed over Legolas for the boy in his arms. “It's kinda the place I go to now whenever I’m on campus and feel like I'm going to have another attack.”

“Melu, I didn't know-”

“I was bullied really badly when I was a kid,” he answered, his face turned down now. “It's no fun growing up in Lothlorien high society when you're a lowly Silvan. It doesn’t matter how wealthy and philanthropic your family is, you just never… The dinner parties and galas... I've... I've never learned to like my hair color.” Legolas placed a cool hand against the boy's cheek, lifting his face so that their sad eyes could meet.

“I think you’re stunning,” Legolas said earnestly, “inside and out. And I love your beautiful hair.” Meludir sighed shakily, rising up on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Legolas' mouth. He braced his hands against the blonde's biceps and pressed deeper into the kiss. Legolas' stomach flipped, and a warm shiver shook through his chest. The scent and taste of Meludir was so sweet, so innocent, so lovely. Legolas felt clean and strong and protective.

The auburn-haired boy sank to sit on the soft bay seat, pulling Legolas down with him. He grasped Legolas by the neck of his hoodie and brought their lips together, teasing lightly, feather light strokes of the tip of his tongue against Legolas’ lips. Legolas opened his mouth and swallowed the kiss eagerly, not sure what he was doing with his hands, but knowing that Meludir's lithe body felt so good, so right beneath his trembling fingers. To Legolas' dismay, Meludir pulled back from the kiss, eyes hazy with want.

“We need to slow down,” he said. Legolas watched his slick, kiss-swollen lips as he spoke, entranced. “Anyone could find us here.”

“I really like kissing you,” Legolas pleaded, asking for nothing in particular except for Melu to never stop. Meludir bit his lower lip as an indulgent smile took over.

“You've not... Oh, how do I put this?” He asked, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Without offending you, that is.” Legolas just wanted him to shut up and return to kissing him. Sure, he'd kissed loads of people in his past, starting with Tauriel when he was barely into puberty, because she was a couple years older than him and really pretty, and he was still trying to figure out his crazy feelings. This was different. Meludir was different. “Legolas, are you a virgin?”

His face flushed red, and he turned his head to look out the window, his hands, anywhere but Meludir's kind, understanding face. “What? You know I’ve-”

“In all honesty, Legolas.”

Legolas looked into Meludir’s kind eyes, so free of judgement or ridicule. “What answer will result in you getting into my pants tomorrow night?”

“The honest one.”

Legolas looked into his eyes once more. “Is it okay if I say yes?” Meludir smiled again and kissed Legolas' lips tenderly. The sensation lit a surprising surge of hunger in Legolas. He craved those lips more than anything, and if only Meludir would just stop talking and keep kissing him...

“You didn’t have to lie about it. All those times you bragged about conquests…” Meludir shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, now, I really, really can't wait for tomorrow night,” Meludir whispered, a positively evil tone echoing in his gentle voice. Legolas felt unsteady.

“Where is my sweet, innocent, pure Melu?”

“I’ve no clue,” Meludir practically purred. “How ironic that you think I’m the sweet, innocent, pure one. You don't miss the other Melu, do you?”

“I will after a while,” Legolas laughed. “But I like this Meludir, too. I'd like to spend some time with him.”

“You'll become well acquainted with him tomorrow night, I imagine,” he answered. “But now, I have to let you go before I take you right here where anyone could find us.” Legolas' chest grew tight. He hadn't felt so turned on since his ada-

No. He tamped down on that thought as quickly as it had come.

“Are you sure you have to go?” Legolas asked, but he could hear immediately that he was begging more than anything.

“Tauriel's probably waiting for you already in the Commons, and I still have to send off my mother tonight,” Meludir reasoned, rising and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Legolas sighed. Meludir stood by the tapestry, reaching to pull it out of the way. He appraised Legolas for a moment.

“I still can't believe you want me.”

Legolas stood and pressed a palm against the auburn boy’s chest. “How could I want anyone else?”

 

Legolas had sent six texts, called twice and waited forty five minutes before he decided that he'd had enough of waiting for Tauriel to show. Out of spite, he sent a final text.

Me>Guess I'm less important than whoever's fucking you, right?

He'd already hopped in his car and had driven home by the time she answered, but he ignored it and dragged a bottle of wine, a crate of LPs and his portable record player out to the greenhouse on the edge of the property, where he fell asleep listening to records, limbs buzzing and mind blank from the wine and some weed he'd bought off one of Tauriel’s friends.

 

He had been standing in front of his bathroom mirror for nearly ten minutes, agonizing over his clothes, his hair, his skin. He had already spent an agonizing amount of time shaving his nether regions, anticipating what his date tonight was going to bring and what it was going to mean for him. He praised the Valar that he'd managed not to castrate himself in the process.

He'd been waiting his whole life for this night. He felt like he'd drunk a thousand cups of coffee, his hands were shaking so badly. His hair just wouldn't cooperate, so he finally just threw it into a ponytail, because he remembered this one time long ago that Meludir had said that it really suited his face.

He remembered being the one to go for the kiss first that night at The Halls of Mandos, even though he had sworn to himself a hundred times that he'd hold off, he'd give Meludir time to... do what now, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it hadn’t been Meludir who needed the time. He remembered looking down at the short boy's adoring face looking up at him, awash in the amber streetlight, and the urge had flowed through him so naturally. He remembered being dizzy with the relief of Meludir being ready for him, after all, or maybe with the relief that it had felt so right, that Legolas himself had been ready for it.

The light in Meludir's eyes today in the alcove still surprised him. Who was his sweet, adorable cinnamon roll really? Whatever the answer, he could say for sure that his pure angel certainly hadn't been in that tiny nook today, and the thought made Legolas' heart throb.

His phone buzzed.

Tauriel>Will you answer me? I said I was sorry. I lost track of time.

Legolas clicked his tongue against his teeth. He knew he'd be agonizing about this stupid thing all night if he didn't finally respond.

Legolas>I just find it kind of funny that I'm losing my best friend to someone I haven't even met yet.  
Tauriel>Legolas. Really.  
Tauriel>You are being so sensitive. This isn’t personal  
Tauriel>I already told you that it's still so new with Kili. We're still getting to know each other  
Legolas>For something so tentative, you sure are comfortable ditching the sure things in your life  
Tauriel>I'll make it up to you. I promise  
Tauriel>You know you’re important to me  
Legolas>We'll see, won't we?  
Tauriel>I swear.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this amazing [Legolas look-alike](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZYUZGQzlMMTZuRzA) just chilling in his car.
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[You You You You You](https://youtu.be/lJ9WLOra3CY)" by The 6ths. It's like if cotton candy were a song.
> 
> Since it'll likely be several days before I'm really able to update again, I'll leave you with this teaser: Sabariel finds something she shouldn't and becomes suspicious.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. I had a bit of a bumpy time getting settled in after my trip to America (whole ordeal with a stolen passport, etc. blah blah blah). Anyway, I'm apologizing by giving you some smut. I know it's been a while. Have fun.
> 
> [This](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZTThjYVgybklYbUk) is the diner where they have their date, and [this](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZSXBFZ3dJemdLZ1U) is Lindir's.
> 
> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZRk5rTExKZDRDRWc) and [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZVThVZkR0VXIxR2c) are shots of Meludir's apartment.

Legolas had long grown antsy sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting listlessly for the appropriate time to leave the house. He pulled into the diner parking lot thirty minutes early and killed the engine under a flickering amber streetlight. He fidgeted absently and tried to focus on the hazy noise rock issuing from the car stereo. He took a steadying breath and began to feel a little creepy sitting out in the crowded parking lot all alone. He sighed and grabbed his bag, slamming the car door shut behind himself as he made for the diner.

The small, converted train car bustled with life, from the tinkling of the bell on the door to the chatter of conversation and the tinny bebop whistling from the Wurlitzer at the far end. A long Formica counter dotted with peachy vinyl stools stretched the length of one side of the car, and lining the windows were booths in the same Formica and peach. The chrome door swung shut behind Legolas, as he noticed with a pleasant bubble in his chest that Meludir was already sitting at the end opposite the jukebox.

The auburn boy grinned and nodded, his face alight when he realized that Legolas had also jumped the gun in arriving way too early. Legolas slid into the booth across from his smiling date and said, “I thought you were in the study group until 7. How is it you made it off campus and half-way across town by-” He checked the time on his phone. “7:18?”

“7:10, actually. I left early,” he answered casually. “I didn't want to risk making you wait for me.” He grinned and reached over to squeeze Legolas' hand. “We’ve done a lot of waiting.”

"Don’t be sappy,” Legolas mumbled as bashful color stole over his cheeks. “Wanna order?" He asked, reaching for a plastic menu and giving it a perfunctory scan. He mentally willed his heart to slow down a bit before it beat a hole through his chest. “I heard this place does a killer veggie burger. You know, since you’re a vegetarian...” Meludir hummed appreciatively.

“Good, though if you don’t share a malt with me, I’m going to be very put out,” he stated as he pored over his own menu.

“I don’t _love_ malts,” Legolas answered petulantly. Meludir cast a very pointed look in Legolas’ direction. The blonde finally glanced up, then said, “Fine, we’ll share a malt.” Meludir brightened instantly.

“This is officially the most adorable place in the universe for a first date,” he said, fighting the girlish urge to gush over how cute and retro the whole place was. The waitress arrived tableside, a heavily made-up, middle aged woman with brassy hair and red lacquered nails, in a crisp (if stained) apron and sensible shoes. She introduced herself (“Vicki with an I”) in a low, raspy drawl and took their order with a flourish of a ballpoint pen before disappearing in a cloud of cheap (if pleasant) perfume.

The food came fast, two baskets of massive veggie burgers, one with fries, the other with onion rings. As promised, Legolas took a sip from the malt that Vicki With An I had placed between them. He grimaced, and Meludir smiled indulgently.

“You don’t have to drink it,” he said softly.

Legolas bit his lip. “Thank you.”

The two ate in silence, glancing at each other occasionally when one thought the other wasn’t looking. Legolas’ heart began pounding when he felt Meludir snake a foot up his thigh and rub his leg through the tight denim of his skinny jeans. He swallowed hard when he noticed the fire simmering in the auburn boy’s eyes. He fought the urge to press Meludir against the booth seat and ravish his mouth until their lips were red and swollen with hot kisses. Legolas took a sip of his Coke, but the cold drink did nothing to cool his fever.

“What next?” Legolas rasped. Meludir sucked his lower lip between his teeth and played with the soft flesh. Legolas dug his nails into the vinyl beneath him.

“Lindir’s?” Meludir offered. “We could walk from here. We can go see what’s new.” Legolas nodded and motioned for the check.

They walked down the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder, passing storefronts and gently brushing up against each other. Legolas was sure he was slowly coming undone. Just before they reached Lindir’s, Meludir gently shoved Legolas into a narrow alley and pressed him against the wall. Legolas eyes grew wide as Meludir’s body pinned his own in place. He pulled Legolas lips down to his own and kissed him hard. Legolas bit back a hungry moan at the feeling of Meludir’s supple figure pressing so suddenly against him. “Melu,” he sighed when Meludir pulled away. With a mischievous grin, Meludir left Legolas panting against the wall.

“You coming or what?” He asked innocently as he rounded the corner to Lindir’s.

“I just nearly did,” Legolas quipped, quickly catching up with the short boy. Meludir’s laugh was rich and deep, a melodious partner to the tinkling of the bell above the door that signaled their entry into the small record shop. A slender, bespectacled man with long, black hair came from a back room carrying a cardboard box.

“Ah, Legolas!” He said jovially as he set the box down at the register. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!”

“Hey, Lindir,” Legolas answered. Lindir began digging around on the shelf beneath the register.

“I pulled a couple new ones for you to check out, but not that many,” Lindir continued. “You hear the new Blue Wizards record yet?” He handed a short stack of LPs to Legolas and leaned against the counter. He flashed Meludir a smile.

“Nah, it’s not on Spotify yet,” he answered. “Any good?” He scanned the back of the sleeve.

“Not their best, but…”

“It’s still a Wizards record?”

“That, it is,” Lindir said. Turning to Meludir again, “How you doing? Meludir, right?” Meludir nodded.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Meludir answered. “How’s your band doing?” Lindir brightened.

“You remember my band?” He asked in mild surprise. “Pretty so so. Our guitarist is a fucking primadonna. We’d kick him out if we had a decent replacement lined up.” Meludir’s expression brightened as he turned to Legolas.

“Legolas, _you_ play guitar,” he said excitedly. Legolas shook his head as he set the records down on the counter.

“Not really,” he said. “I haven’t touched the thing in several months.” Meludir wilted visibly.

“Well, that’s a real shame,” Lindir said. “We could use someone who knows good music.” Legolas shrugged. “Oh, well. You don’t want to play with a bunch of old dudes anyway.”

Legolas laughed. “Lindir, you’re not that far past your age of majority.”

“Far enough. Past retirement age for rockstars, at any rate,” he quipped. “Anyway, you two have a look around the shop for a while. I’ve got a new shipment to sort out.”

Meludir and Legolas set to it, poring through the long aisles of records as Lindir went in and out of the shop. Legolas was examining a used copy of Kid A and didn’t noticed Meludir plotting behind him. “You know, I just never _got_ Radiohead. Always thought they were a little-” His thought was cut off by Meludir pressing up behind him, his deft hands snaking around to jerk Legolas’ narrow hips against his own. Legolas leaned forward, bracing his upper body against the record display as Meludir pulled his earlobe between his teeth. A shiver ripped through Legolas from the swipes of Meludir’s wicked tongue against his hypersensitive flesh. He gasped. Meludir ground his hips against Legolas’ backside. “Melu, Lindir could-”

“Let him watch,” Meludir joked as he slid his right hand lower on Legolas’ rigid body. His voice issued dark, smoky, dangerous as he asked, “Are you hard for me?” He roughly slid his hot palm over the firm outline of Legolas’ cock. The blonde’s eyes flickered shut as he nodded vigorously. Meludir ground his hips against Legolas’ rear again. “Do you feel how hard you’re making me?” Legolas nodded again. “Say it.”

“You’re so hard,” Legolas mumbled as his face stained crimson. He nearly sobbed when Meludir pulled away, but he collected himself quickly as he heard Lindir re-enter the room.

“Hey, Legolas,” Lindir called. “I just got word from my ticket guy that The Wizards-”

“Lindir, we’ve gotta go,” Legolas interrupted, quickly making towards the door, Meludir following right after, trying not to laugh his ass off.

“Um…” Lindir called after, but as the door swung closed behind him, Legolas didn’t care what Lindir’d prepared to say. He only cared about the way that Meludir’s hair glowed in the light of the street lamp, and the way that his touch still burned on his skin, and the way he wanted Meludir to slide his thick cock into his virgin ass as deep and as hard as he possibly could. How he wanted Meludir to utterly wring him out and leave him destroyed in a pool of his own spend. He dragged the boy into the alley.

“Want you so bad,” Legolas whispered between the kisses that he was feverishly pressing against Meludir’s neck. “Want your cock.” He felt Meludir’s hands pull him back. He was struck hard with the realization that Meludir was completely in control of him whether he meant to be or not.

“So, as far as first dates go, what's the verdict?” Meludir asked with a very smug look.

“Well,” Legolas said in a low, uncertain voice, “I was hoping that it wasn't quite over yet.” Meludir slid a hand down his side, resting his warm palm on Legolas' hip. “Eru, I just feel like you’re fucking with me now.” Meludir laughed.

“It's only over when you say it's over,” he replied in that foreign, silky voice that was driving spikes of lust through Legolas’ entire being. “Would you like to go back to my place, Legolas?” Legolas' pulse surged, and he felt himself nodding before he'd even processed speech. “Would you like me to drive, or...?”

“Yeah, you can drive.”

The ride to Meludir's apartment was agony for Legolas. He felt like a statue in the passenger seat, trying to focus on the music piping from the stereo but failing. He kept observing the fall of the perfect tendrils of Meludir's rich hair, the curve of his full lips, the grip of his graceful hands on the steering wheel. He shivered as he thought of those steady hands tracing lines down his naked body. The anticipation was wreaking havoc on his nerves. He wanted so much so fast, and it was burning him alive.

Curse Melu for being so calm and collected.

As they pulled into the parking garage, Legolas suddenly wished fervently that they could just spend the rest of the night driving through the empty streets of the sleeping town. The second he unbuckled and stepped through the threshold of Meludir's apartment, that would be it. The point of no return. His stomach was in knots. The leather of the seat creaked as Meludir turned to look at him.

“Everything okay, Legoland?” Meludir asked softly. “I think I’m losing you.”

Legolas turned to him. “Can I be honest? I'm really…”

“Nervous?” Meludir asked, and Legolas was relieved to see the absolute absence of mirth or judgment. “If you want to try another night…”

“No,” Legolas answered resolutely. “I want this. I want you. Tonight.” He grasped Meludir's hoodie with a fist and pulled the boy in for a searing kiss. Meludir pulled back gently.

“Whoa, boy,” he said. “Can we go inside before we tear off each other's clothes?” Legolas nodded, hastily grabbing his bag and unclicking his seatbelt. Before he could open the door, Meludir grasped his forearm with tender fingers. Legolas looked at him with wide, expectant eyes. He leaned forward and whispered into Legolas' ear, “Just be warned, if you come with me now, I intend to ravish every inch of your lean, gorgeous body and leave you panting in exquisite pleasure and completely spent. Is that okay?”

Legolas was not proud of the sound that came from his throat, but he collected his things nevertheless and practically ejected himself from the car. The walk to Meludir's front door was absolutely agonizing, but the second the door was closed behind them again, Meludir pounced on him, swinging him bodily to press his back against the door and devour the skin just beneath Legolas' right ear. His bag fell to the floor, followed by their hoodies and Legolas' shirt shortly after as Meludir peeled them off with deft fingers.

“I've been wanting you for so long,” Meludir sighed between the stripes he was licking up and down Legolas' throat. The sensation of the shorter boy's tongue on his skin made the entire right side of his body tingle, from the tips of his ear to his nipples to the tips of his toes. His knees grew weak. “I want to get lost in you.”

Through the haze of pleasure beginning to fill his senses, Legolas gasped, “Melu! It's so strange to hear you talk like this.” The auburn boy pulled back a moment, though he kept Legolas' arms pinned above his head. “I mean, I love it. Don’t get me wrong.”

“Legolas, I am more than happy to spend my days being your pure and sweet Melu,” he said, “but right now, I want to be filthy and evil and make you come.” His words hit Legolas like a sledgehammer, and then he felt Meludir palm his cock again, and he thought he could happily die like this. He could feel Melu's perceptive brown eyes reading every fraction of his face. “It seems that you want the same.”

“I don’t think I can wait much longer,” Legolas begged, jerking his hands against the shackles of Meludir's own hand.

“Patience is a virtue,” Meludir said in a sweet, singsong voice, belying the devilish pleasure he was stirring in Legolas' cock.

“So is putting your money where your mouth is,” he panted. “Or putting your mouth where my cock is.”

Meludir chuckled and finally released Legolas. “Legolas,” he said, face now alight with concern and affection, “If at any point you need to stop, just say the word. I'm happy to spend the night just holding you.” Legolas looked at him in abject confusion.

“Why would I want to stop?”

“Just a feeling I get,” Meludir said warmly. “We're going to take this slowly, even though I know you don't think you can.” He kissed Legolas so sweetly against the lips. “I want you to remember tonight.” Every inch of Legolas was screaming out for touch. He grabbed Meludir's hands and tried to place them on his body. Meludir chuckled again, linking his fingers through Legolas’ belt loops and pulling him through a short hallway. “Come on. Bedroom’s this way.”

He led Legolas by the hand down a short hallway into his bedroom, an open space that mostly consisted of a deep bed that was a riot of pillows and piles of blankets. The far wall was practically dripping with tendrils of artificial ivy that gave the light pouring through the sliding glass door a green glow. Legolas sank down onto the bed, breathing deeply, trying to still his pounding heart once more. Melu stood at the foot of the bed looking down at his shirtless body. He finally leaned down and began unfastening the fly of Legolas' jeans. He helped Legolas wiggle out of the tight denim and gazed down again at Legolas' tight chest and muscular thighs. When his eyes fell upon the hard cock straining against the emerald green boxer briefs, Meludir released a measured sigh and licked his lips.

Legolas watched him as he slowly crawled onto hands and knees between Legolas' legs. He leaned forward and pressed a wet kiss to Legolas' mouth before sucking up the tip of the blonde’s ear. He ran his hands down Legolas' arms as he sucked one nipple between his teeth, then the other. He bit tender little kisses down the length of Legolas' shivering abdomen and then placed his searing hands on Legolas' parted thighs. He placed a delicate line of kisses slowly up the inside of his right thigh. Legolas dug his fingers into the blankets. Meludir repeated the feather-soft kisses up the line of the other thigh. Legolas whimpered as Meludir raked his nails gently down the tops of his legs before returning to massage the tender skin where leg met abdomen. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of Legolas' boxer briefs. He pulled the cloth down just far enough for the blonde’s cock to spring free, thick, red, slightly curved. He bit his lip as he glanced up the line of Legolas' abs to meet the unfocused blue eyes with his own honey brown. He slowly lowered his parted, damp lips and slipped them over the head of Legolas' heated cock.

The blonde’s forehead scrunched as he sighed in pleasure. “Melu,” he whined as the auburn boy slid his vicious tongue against the swollen head and sucked, the pleasure agonizing even as he filled Meludir’s mouth with the taste of salty precome. Legolas lost what little control he had and bucked against Meludir's clever mouth. Meludir pulled away from his dick with a wet pop.

“Steady, now,” Meludir whispered with a wry smile. “Beautiful.” Legolas was driven to weave his fingers through his own hair to control the tremor of his body as Melu lifted the cock from where is lay against Legolas' stomach. He drew the very tip of his tongue down the dark vein running the length of the gorgeous cock, up and down, up and down. Legolas’ body was taut. “Try to relax.”

“It’s a bit hard,” Legolas said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll say,” Meludir agreed with a wicked smirk before he slid his plump lips over the sensitive cockhead. Legolas whined again, but the rough brush of Meludir’s hot tongue against his aching crown left his toes curling and his mind free of any shame. Meludir’s whisper was husky. “So responsive. I love it.” His voice trickled through Legolas’ senses like warm honey dripping from his nipples down to his throbbing cock. Meludir plunged low, his tongue and lips and throat caressing Legolas’ length. Legolas whimpered, the feeling of his lover’s tight throat and the puff of Meludir’s hot breath against the base of his dick sending spikes of pleasure coursing through him, like fingernails ghosting over his flesh. Already, he felt his balls tight and high against his body, and then Meludir dipped down to suck one into his mouth and then release it with a lurid pop. He frantically grasped Meludir’s silky hair.

“I’m going to come,” he panted.

Meludir fisted his cock with slick fingers and said, “I know.”

“Is that okay?”

“Legolas,” Meludir began, cupping Legolas’ tight balls with his free hand while the other slid up and down Legolas’ dick, “I’m going to milk you dry, and when you come, I want to hear it.”

 _And then I’m going to fuck your tight, little ass._ He was immediately overcome with the absolute presence of his worst fear, smell, sight, touch, taste and sound. The dam burst, and the glowing sensation in his balls cascaded through him, waves of heat and light licking down his legs to the arches of his feet, through his chest and down shaking arms, through his aching cock, a smattering of runny come dripping from Meludir’s lips. He focused on Meludir’s lips and tried hard not to think of another’s.

He could see Meludir bent at the waist now, furiously pumping at his own thick, rosy cock that he’d pulled through the unfastened fly of his skinny jeans. He grasped Legolas’ hand as he came hard onto the duvet, silent, his eyes flickering shut as his cheeks grew stained with red. He rested his head against Legolas’ thigh as he caught his breath. Legolas smoothed Melu’s hair out of his face as he came down from his own high.

“Why did you do that?” Legolas asked, quiet curiosity. Meludir looked up at him with a knowing smile. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing,” Meludir said cryptically. “Anyway, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Why?” Legolas demanded.

Meludir licked his lips, wiping away Legolas’ come, as the smile took over his entire face. He laughed softly. “Something you said… It made me want to fuck you to pieces.”

“What did I say? Tell me,” he pleaded, smile beginning to match Melu’s.

“When you came, you…” He bit his lip, bright grin lighting his eyes with mischief. “You called me ada.” Legolas’ smile dropped.

“No, I didn’t.” His face burned red.

“You did.”

“I. Didn’t,” Legolas said steadily, but his voice developed a tremor, and Meludir paused for a moment.

“I must have misheard you,” he answered finally. He disappeared from the room for a moment, then reentered with a damp wash cloth and cleaned the mess they’d made together. He slid up Legolas’ body, pulling the blonde’s underwear back into place before kissing him on the mouth.

“Are we still going to…” Legolas began, but he lost the words. “You’re still wearing your pants.” Meludir kissed him again and gave him another of his bright smiles.

“Not tonight,” he answered, pulling off his shirt. He awkwardly kicked off his jeans and yanked the blankets down around their feet. “It’ll give us something to look forward to.” He slid a sure hand up Legolas’ side, and the blonde shivered from the sensation. They kissed each other softly until they finally fell asleep.

 

 

She stood in the doorway of his study and rolled her eyes. Thranduil would never learn to turn the lights off when he left a room. Sabariel marched over to his desk and fiddled with the switch of the lamp, attention caught by his open laptop still sitting unlocked. Her fingers itched, but then she dismissed the urge to go snooping. She had no reason to mistrust him. She'd been repeating that line over and over to herself more lately.

She remained frozen, hovering over the keyboard. He'd been different since she'd gotten back from her trip, like when they were young and had only a small fraction of the worries they now faced. It was nothing. The therapy was working better than she thought would. He missed her.

She sighed heavily and finally switched off the lamp. As she turned to leave, she accidentally bumped the wireless mouse. The laptop instantly woke, and before she could force herself to turn away, she read the title of the document that Thranduil had last been reading.

_What Nabokov Knew: The Power of Youthful Lovers Over the Male Ego_

Her hands began to shake as she ground her teeth together. She slammed the laptop lid shut and fled from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas' theme for this chapter is “[I’m On Fire](https://youtu.be/MKwvmih0AA8)” by Bat for Lashes.
> 
> Sorry about the huge lapse in posting. I'll try to get the next chapter to you tomorrow. I love you, and you're special.
> 
> For fic-related updates and dirty elf posts, you can follow me on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZSWUyUlIxUHhPR1k)'s the Kingshall foyer.
> 
> I'll post links for Legolas' dorm once Sabariel comes in and does her decorating magic. Just imagine a big, empty, rich kid dorm for now.

“You're late,” Thranduil admonished, tapping the face of his Rolex with a neatly trimmed fingernail. Legolas closed the heavy office door behind him, quickly shuffling over to the impressive desk. “You know I abhor tardiness.”  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, bending to kiss his mother on the cheek as she sat in one of the two leather chairs sitting audience to the haughty president. “Hi, nana.”  
  
She smiled warmly, the expression changing her lined face. “I'll take it the date went well, then,” she said with a knowing glance to Thranduil. The blush that rose up Legolas' neck turned the tips of his ears bright red.  
  
“I should have called to say I wouldn't be home,” he said, wondering why he felt the sudden, powerful urge to apologize for the whole thing and why he couldn't look at his father even if he tried.  
  
Thranduil snapped impatiently, “Well, you're in luck, because it seems that Mithrandir's running late, as well.”  
  
“Mithrandir? That weirdo from the dinner party last month?”  
  
“That weirdo is your soon-to-be RA,” Thranduil answered, the stern look growing ever deeper on his brow. Legolas swallowed hard. Ada was in a bad mood. Legolas looked to his mother, whose lips rested in a telltale thin line. He knew he couldn't ask just what exactly he had missed.  
  
“How is Grandma, nana?” Legolas asked, hoping to break the tension.  
  
“Very well,” she answered, thawing perceptibly. “She missed her two boys, though. She sent an entire suitcase of stuff for you.” Legolas perked up.  
  
“Did she make the lembas I like?”  
  
“I'm pretty sure.”  
  
“Score,” he sighed. The room grew silent again, and Legolas felt the weight of unspoken words heavy against his skin. His breath had an uneasy home in his chest. Sabariel excused herself to visit the restroom. As the door clicked shut behind her, Legolas leaned over and whispered, “What's going on?”  
  
Thranduil pushed his glasses up the bridge of his thin nose and slunk back into his chair, arms crossed against his chest. “Apparently,” he began with an arch expression, “your grandmother was not as understanding about our work and school obligations as she had let on, and now your naneth is pissed off at me, because we didn't go.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Compounded with the fact,” he growled, punching an angry text into his phone, “that Tauriel is giving me trouble, because apparently, I'm too much of a slave driver.”  
  
“Yeah,” Legolas said gingerly. “She did mention that you were assigning a lot of work for her. She's got a lot of work in her classes, I think.”  
  
“Does she, now? And I'm sure it has nothing to do with that boy from Erebor U who keeps sniffing around after her. Kilo or Kiley or whatever.” He dropped his phone onto his desk with an air of disgust.  
  
“ _Erebor_?” Legolas hissed, seeing red for a moment. Tauriel had certainly kept _that_ tidbit of information close to the chest.  
  
“Trust a Dwarf to make things difficult for those of us who are actually trying to accomplish things,” Thranduil said with a self-satisfied air. He scribbled a few notes on the top page of a tall stack of papers with the shiny, golden ballpoint pen that nana had given him as an anniversary present the past year.  
  
“Dwarves,” Legolas agreed with matched disgust. Trust a Dwarf to ruin his closest and oldest friendship. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest.  
  
“And,” Thranduil growled, tapping another angry text into his phone, “there was another _fucking_  Orc raid last night.” Legolas heaved an agitated sigh and rolled his eyes, despite the shiver that cascaded down his spine at the unusual shock of hearing a foul word pass his father’s lips.  
  
“They didn't…”  
  
“Yes, the mascot's gone. _Again_ ,” Thranduil answered gravely. “One more stupid, pointless problem on my plate, and I swear I'm going to snap and murder a student.” All at once, he remembered himself and glanced at Legolas once before shifting easily back into his customary professional mien. “Anyway, be good for your mother. You know how she is when she thinks I've done wrong.”  
  
Legolas nodded solemnly as Sabariel entered the room. “Look who I found,” she announced cheerfully as Mithrandir appeared behind her. He wore his typical deep grey hoodie and a dour expression, nearly hidden by his trimmed beard and bushy eyebrows. The young man had obviously gone gray prematurely; a bright, youthful light still shone in his blue eyes.  
  
“Terribly sorry I'm late,” he said, bowing briefly in contrition. “There was a bit of a to-do in the morgue with some of the pre-med students, and anyway, long story short, the practice cadavers have been retrieved from the West Lawn.” The family stared at the frazzled young man with varying degrees of befuddlement and horror. “The joys of med school, eh?”  
  
“Indeed,” Thranduil answered simply. “Well, shall we commence with the tour, then?” A bell clearly rang in Mithrandir's head.  
  
“Ah! Yes!” He agreed, absently patting his pockets for something. He pulled out a big ring of keys and gestured for the three to follow him. “You know, you're very lucky, Legolas. Kingshall is the best dorm on campus. Funny story, but it's usually totally at capacity. Heck, even the sofas are taken usually, but we just had a vacancy. The student's dad died, and he decided to drop out to help his grieving mother back in his home country. Isn't that lucky?”  
  
“Yeah,” Legolas hesitantly agreed. “Lucky.”  
  
“Apparently, he was, like, a prince or something,” Mithrandir noted, continuing to make uncomfortable small talk until they reached the building. Once in the lift, an awkward silence fell. Mithrandir nodded his head and hummed a vague tune before turning to Legolas. “Hey, Legolas! I was just thinking! How do you feel about paintball?”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“The guys on your floor love it,” Mithrandir chattered happily. “It's probably a poor substitute for actually shooting people, but it's certainly a lot safer.” He looked at Legolas expectantly. Mithrandir shrugged. “Anyway, I wouldn't know. I've never shot a person. Well, a living one, anyway. Ballistics testing, you know. Ah, here we are.” The lift dinged, and the family all felt a small surge of relief upon quickly exiting the small box.  
  
They followed Mithrandir down the wide corridor to a door at the very end. He fumbled with the keys for a moment before finding the one he needed. He opened the door and gestured the family inside. Legolas looked around and knew almost instantly that this was the dorm he wanted. He flashed his parents a bright smile after having inspected the open floor plan of the kitchenette, seating area, and loft, as well as the private bathroom behind the door next to the fridge. “It's perfect.”  
  
Thranduil busied himself with closely inspecting the taps and rapping his knuckles against the radiator. “I can help you decorate it, of course,” Sabariel offered, clearly having already begun tallying design ideas in her head.  
  
“Oh, I remember your house,” Mithrandir said encouragingly, nodding with vigor. “Your mother really has an eye for design.” Legolas nodded awkwardly as Sabariel turned to the odd guy with a genuinely pleased smile.  
  
“Thank you, Mithrandir. My boys don't really appreciate style,” she said with a happy lilt in her voice.  
  
“When can I move in?” Legolas asked, turning to his father in joy for the first time in weeks. Excitement glowed on his skin.  
  
“Cleaners are coming after lunch today,” Mithrandir figured, “so any time tomorrow is fine.” His phone buzzed, and he scrambled to retrieve it from his deep pockets. He scanned the text quickly then pulled a spare room key from the key ring and handed it to the blond youth. “This is where I leave you. Just got a text from the West Lawn. Apparently, we missed one. See you tomorrow, Legolas.”  
  
He exited the dorm in a flurry. “What a strange young man,” Sabariel stated blankly. “I mean, I like him, but…”  
  
“I know him well, and I imagine that when he graduates,” Thranduil began, “he'll be the finest doctor in the country. His teachers call him a wizard, he's so good.” With a final cursory glance around the dorm, Thranduil nodded and headed to the door. “Pretty sure he's a pot head, though, so don't let him influence you, ion.” Legolas bit down on a tiny bubble of guilt and nodded back at his father.  
  
As they were preparing to leave, the door swung open and two short, curly headed guys appeared in the doorway, practically standing on top of each other. “It's true then! A new neighbor,” said the dark-haired one to the sandy blonde one.  
  
“Hi, we live next door,” the sandy blonde one said, surging forth to shake Legolas' hand. “I'm Sam, and this is Frodo. We live down the hall.” Legolas' head tilted to the side, and he unconsciously goggled at the two in front of him.  
  
“Where are you from?” Legolas asked rudely. “You're so short!” The smiles on Sam and Frodo's faces dimmed slightly in well-concealed exasperation, but Sam remained standing with his hand held out, waiting for a handshake.  
  
“Exchange students,” Sam answered. “From the Shire Agricultural College. And we're not short. You're just very tall.” Finally, Legolas laughed and took Sam's hand in a friendly greeting. “No need to ask who you are, though. Practically a celebrity around here, what with... him…” He gestured nervously to the tall, severe man standing behind Legolas. “Begging your pardon, sir.”  
  
Frodo reached in and shook Legolas' hand, too. “You like paintball?”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
“Well, we'd better be off,” Sam announced. “We're going to be late for a very secret, important meeting with Gandalf.”  
  
“Once he finishes with the corpses, that is.”  
  
“The other guys are already there. Nice meeting you!” Sam called as the two scurried from the room.  
  
“Who’s Gandalf?” Legolas shouted after them, but the two had already disappeared out the door and down the stairs, and he received no answer. Turning to his parents, he said in frustration, “ _More_ corpses? What is it with these people and corpses?”  
  
Sabariel patted her son on the shoulder encouragingly. “On the bright side, you’ve already made new friends!”  
  
Legolas just shrugged. “I mean, I guess?”  
  
Turning to Thranduil, she said, “Let's go have lunch at that new diner downtown.” The man nodded his approval. As they made their way across campus to the staff parking garage, Legolas noticed a familiar auburn head bent in concentration over a heavy textbook. Meludir sat cross legged on the vast lawn in the shadow cast by the high walls of the Student Union. Sabariel followed Legolas' line of sight and excitedly said, “Oh, that's Meludir, isn't it?”  
  
“Nana,” Legolas warned.  
  
“Meludir, darling,” she called across the yard.  
  
“Sabariel, you shouldn't shout in public,” Thranduil advised, frowning deeply. “It's undignified.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and demonstrably ignored his comment. “We should at least say hello,” she said as Meludir glanced up, searching for the source of the shouting. When he spotted the three standing on the path in the distance, a huge grin split his face. He hastily shoved his books into his satchel and jogged over to the stone path where they stood.  
  
Nodding to Legolas' parents, he greeted them. “Professor Oropherion. Ma'am. So nice to see you!” Turning to Legolas, he asked stiffly, though still in his bright and charming way, “Finish the tour already?” Legolas’ heart seized. He was stricken with a dreadful panic, like his parents had just demanded to have a look at his internet browsing history.  
  
“Meludir,” Sabariel said sweetly, “it's been so long since we last saw you. Wherever have you been hiding?” She squeezed his arm affectionately.  
  
“I've been working and studying so much lately, ma'am,” he answered, casting a glance at Legolas that said _they know, don't they?_  Legolas had the grace to feel embarrassed on Meludir’s behalf. “I really miss your wonderful hospitality.” She practically crowed.  
  
“Thranduil, doesn't Meludir have just the best manners?” She asked, a melodious laugh threatening to pour forth. Thranduil shifted where he stood. A tight smile twisted his face, but his eyes bore no light. He stood as tall and broad as possible and crossed his arms over his chest. Meludir had the distinct feeling that the terrifying man was pointedly looking down his nose at him. He swallowed hard and tried to stand taller, though he was no match for Thranduil’s impressive height and broad shoulders. Even drawn to his full height, Meludir only barely brushed the bottom of Thranduil’s chin. He shifted on the balls of his feet.  
  
“You can thank my naneth for that,” he said lightly, a smile pasted on his face. “She rules with an iron fist.” Sabariel laughed, and Legolas mentally counted the seconds until this ambush on Meludir would be over.  
  
“So, Meludir,” Thranduil said suddenly, his voice obnoxiously deeper than usual. Meludir nearly flinched.  
  
“Yes, sir?” He asked softly.  
  
“Care to explain why you kept my son out all night last night?” He asked coolly, and Legolas contemplated killing either his father or himself as blood pumped unreservedly into his cheeks. Thranduil wore a frigid smile as he glared down at the auburn youth. A light bulb clicked on in Meludir's head, that dawning of realization learned from a lifetime of dealing with shit from bullies, and the trepidation fled from his body as he crossed his arms in kind and lifted his chin to meet Thranduil's steely eyes.  
  
“I think you already know why,” he responded just as coolly. Thranduil's jaw dropped almost imperceptibly, and his arms fell to his sides. The shock that registered in his eyes elicited a small fanfare of victory in Meludir's chest.  
  
“Really, now, Thranduil,” Sabariel chided. “Meludir, we must be going now, but you should come over tonight for dinner. I know Legolas could use a hand packing for the big move tomorrow, and we wanted to do a little going-away thing for him.”  
  
Legolas rounded on his mother. “Nana, Meludir has to work tonight. He doesn't have time.”  
  
Meludir interrupted, “Actually…” He looked at Legolas, still riding on the wave of victory over Thranduil trying to bust his balls. “Mr. Bowman texted earlier to say that they had to close the range early for maintenance tonight. I can come.”  
  
“Wonderful!” Sabariel declared. Both Thranduil and Legolas seemed less than pleased with her machinations. “Legolas will text you. We'll see you tonight, Meludir.”  
  


  
From: Gimli <gimli.s.o.gloin@uel.edu>  
>This is regarding our project. Our group mate (and my close personal friend) Imrahil, had to leave school for the time being. He told me yesterday morning. I have already asked multiple times that we be reassigned to different groups. Professor Galion and Erestor seem to think two people can do the project alone, in spite of significant and (some might say) insurmountable differences. Please ask your father if he will intervene, as I am completely unwilling to put my success in this class in the hands of a pointy eared git.  
  
From: Pointy Eared Git <l.oropherion@uel.edu>  
>He'd laugh himself silly if I so much as thought about asking him to intervene.  
  
From: Gimli <gimli.s.o.gloin@uel.edu>  
>Very well. So be it. We will conduct our first study session at the Student Union Study Center Monday at 4:00pm. I reserved Study Room 208.  
  
From: Pointy Eared Git <l.oropherion@uel.edu>  
>What if I'm busy?  
  
From: Gimli <gimli.s.o.gloin@uel.edu>  
>Don't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[We Gotta Get Out Of This Place](https://youtu.be/jxNEiZhpinY)" by The Animals.
> 
> You can follow me on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) if you're a fan of elf porn and stupid shit.
> 
> Again, I want to give a huge thanks for all the feedback. It means a lot to me when you guys take a tiny bit of time to let me know how you feel. The Thrandolas community is pretty tiny. Let's all be weird, elf porn friends!


	10. Chapter 10

“Sabariel, would you stop fussing so much?” Thranduil said, irritation like a fog of gnats swarming his head as his wife paced to and fro in front of the stove, mentally ticking off the thousands of things she just knew she’d forgotten to do. He shifted in the leather seat in the sitting area on the far end of the open room, the newspaper rustling in his hands.

“He'll be here soon,” she said with a frown, adjusting the arrangement of flowers on the kitchen table. Thranduil glanced again at her over the back of the low sofa by the sleek hearth.

“Meludir doesn't care about the house,” Thranduil argued, “and least of all, the damned daffodils.” He flipped the page of the newspaper with a disapproving frown. Sabariel checked the cool glass of the pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator to see if it had chilled yet.

“I know you disapprove of my roosting, but is it _so_ crazy that I just want to make a good first impression?” She asked, glaring daggers in his direction. “Elbereth, you'd think I'd…”

“Sab, he's been here before,” Thranduil reasoned, neatly folding the paper onto his lap. He slid off his glasses and set them on the coffee table. “Many times, in fact.” Sabariel sighed in wavering patience.

“Yes, but not as Legolas'...” She paused and tried to fight the torrent of words, but the dam burst and she said, “You know, this is exactly what we talked about in therapy. You’re always trivializing the things I care about.” Thranduil’s shoulders dropped.

“Sab, I know. I’m sorry,” he sighed. “The daffodils are lovely.”

“Look, if we’re going to make things work-” she began, but then the doorbell rang, and she puffed up in joy. “He's here.” She hastily untied the apron from around her waist and slung it through the handle of the refrigerator. 

“Sabariel,” Thranduil said in grave warning. “Let Legolas get it.” She glared again before returning to tidying the already very tidy kitchen. She glanced over at her husband, and noted with smug appreciation that he was frozen, listening intently to the hushed conversation coming from down the hall.

“Any moment now,” she said to no one in particular. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then the door to Legolas' room snapped shut quietly. She was ever so slightly crestfallen. With a lighthearted whine, she said, “Thranduil, they didn't come say hello.”

“Leave it,” he said through gritted teeth, returning to his newspaper. His knuckles were nearly white.

“Maybe I’ll just bring them a tray of-”

“Leave it.”

 

The clock in the hall chimed six.

“Hey, nana,” Legolas said, appearing in the kitchen with Meludir in tow. The sun had just set behind the trees, and the kitchen was filled with green and golden light. “Dinner ready?”

“Done packing already?” She asked brightly, rising from her seat across from her husband, who remained studiously busy reading. 

“Kinda,” he answered. Meludir tugged on his shirt sleeve and came to stand at the kitchen counter next to Legolas. Sabariel began digging around in the fridge.

“Hello, Meludir,” she said. “Didn’t know you were here yet.” Thranduil harrumphed from his seat and returned to reading. “Hungry?” Meludir glanced behind himself, wearily eyeing Thranduil's frame as the man still reclined in the leather chair, his long legs folded at knee, newspaper now abandoned in favor of his iPad. The man did not turn to acknowledge the nervous youth. Meludir smirked.

“Hi. Yes. Starving,” he answered, glancing again to see if Thranduil had taken notice of him yet. His smirk deepened.

“Well, you're in luck,” she said, “because I ordered pizza, and there are snacks and drinks in the fridge for if you get hungry later.” She regretfully reached for her bag and car keys.

“What, are you going somewhere?” Legolas demanded, voice rising in spite of himself. Her face immediately fell.

“I'm really sorry,” she said. “I just got a call from the museum a moment ago. They've had an issue with some vases, and I'd really rather be there to make sure they don't do something irreversible. I shouldn't be long. I’ll fly back.”

“But nana, it's movie night,” he insisted, his face hot.

“I know, Peg Leg,” she pleaded, “but I really won't be gone long, and your ada will be here. Besides,” she said, reaching over to squeeze Meludir's arm, “Meludir will keep you company.”

“But...it's movie night.”

“Legolas,” Thranduil said sternly, not looking up from his iPad. “Stop being petulant.” Legolas bit his tongue and kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Just hurry, nana,” he whispered. “It's my last night.” She nodded. Meludir watched their exchange with an increasingly full, bubbly heart, fighting the urge to whisper in his boyfriend’s ear _Had no idea you were a mama’s boy, too_. He then fought the urge to fold Legolas into his arms and kiss him within an inch of his life right in front of the asshole on the sofa.

“Of course, I will,” she assured him. “See you boys soon.” She then disappeared through the short hall to the garage.

The three men remained in silence for a moment, the only sound the tapping of Thranduil's fingers against the screen in his hands.

“Going to stand there all night, or...?” Thranduil asked, finally looking up at the two boys. Legolas shrugged, then came to sit on the sofa next to his father. “What do you want to watch?” Legolas pulled the iPad from his father’s hands and opened Netflix. Meludir sat down opposite the two on the sofa, already watching them with hawk eyes.

After a few flicks, Legolas reached over and handed the iPad across to Meludir. “You're the guest. You can pick.”

“Nothing low brow,” Thranduil directed with a bored drawl, reaching an arm around Legolas' shoulders and pulling him against his side. Meludir forgot himself for a moment, watching Thranduil’s fingers squeeze against the very top of Legolas’ shoulder, remembering Legolas' words that night at the Halls. “Are you going to...?”

“Oh, sorry,” Meludir said, looking down at the iPad, flicking through lists of titles. Finally, he called out, “How about Dr. Strangelove?” Legolas shrugged.

“Never heard of it.”

“Are you shitting me, Legoland?” Meludir asked, disbelief apparent on his face. “How have we been friends this long, and you haven’t…” Meludir lifted his hands in exasperation. Legolas rolled his eyes in spite of the grin gaining purchase of his features. Thranduil shifted in his seat, looking down his nose again at the auburn headed boy.

“Actually,” he began in a tone Meludir knew was meant to be intimidating, “I'm surprised you know it.” Thranduil arched an eyebrow. “Not many Kubrick fans your age.” Thranduil looked at Meludir with intense scrutiny, and a bundle of nerves wriggled finally in the youth's stomach. Meludir couldn’t read the cold calculation in the older one’s eyes. He immediately felt out of his depth.

“Kubrick? He's amazing,” he answered, far more breathlessly than he would have liked. “ _The Shining_ is my all-time favorite horror movie!” Thranduil leaned forward, momentarily losing sight of himself.

“Well, it was definitive, wasn’t it?” He said quickly, approval brightening his stern countenance. 

“Right?” Meludir erupted in enthusiasm. His face fell open with interest, and Legolas swallowed hard. “The door scene is one of the most iconic moments in cinema history. It's so jarring and gritty and authentic and... Ai, Eru, the level to which Jack Nicholson just completely loses it... It's just... absolutely…”

“Exquisite,” Thranduil finished. The two grinned at each other as the doorbell rang. Legolas waited for the trance to break, his chest suddenly tight.

“I guess I'll get the pizza,” he snapped, rising from the sofa. When he returned, it stung a bit to find that Meludir had taken his spot on the sofa. Their two heads were bent over the iPad, discussing different titles of interest with animated intensity. Legolas reckoned for a moment that this was what the two of them, he and Meludir, looked like when people saw them together around school. “Pizza's here,” he said with more venom than necessary.

“Okay, give us a moment,” Thranduil said absently, returning to explaining the merits of _Blood Simple_ to a rather enraptured Meludir.

“So, what are we going to watch then?” Legolas cut in again. He had already spitefully started on a slice of pizza. “You know, when you're done giving a film studies lecture.” Thranduil glanced up with a reproachful gaze, but he had finally chosen, and he abstained from his usual refrain of _don’t be petulant_.

“This one has never seen _Fear and Loathing_ ,” Thranduil said in disbelief, rising from the sofa, nearly dislodging Meludir onto the floor. “So, naturally, we need to remedy that.” He grabbed the box of pizza and a stack of napkins. “To the theater?”

Within a few minutes, they'd set up the theater for the movie, pizza and lemonade all served and the iPad synced to the entertainment system. Legolas and Meludir claimed seats on the sofa next to Thranduil, who had already relaxed deeply into his favored spot by the time the movie started.

The lights in the small room dimmed, and the three men became absorbed with the drug-fueled, mind-bending flick the man had chosen. Legolas snuggled against Meludir, resting his head on the smaller boy's shoulder, and Meludir rested his head against the top of Legolas'. Some time had passed (Meludir wasn't sure how much) when he noted with a jolt of warmth that both father and son had fallen asleep. A small, sweet smile twisted his lips as he considered how similar the two were, so often standing tall like young willows, ornery and opinionated, long tendrils of identical white blonde, but out like a light in any comfortable seat.

At length, he gently nudged Legolas awake. Legolas blinked blearily for a moment, before he quickly sat up and gave Meludir a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he whispered. Meludir shook his head softly, then gestured to Legolas' sleeping father. Legolas' smile softened as he took in the profile of the sleeping man's peaceful face. Meludir leaned in closely and pressed a warm, deep kiss to Legolas' mouth. The boy's eyes flew open wide, and he shook his head vehemently, pulling away slightly. “Melu, he's right there,” he whispered, his heart leaping in his chest.

“He's fast asleep,” Thranduil heard the boy whisper. “Kiss me.” Thranduil's heart seized, but he remained still. After a moment of hesitation, he heard the sofa cushion shift and the sound of some vague friction. He cracked his eyes open ever so slightly, hoping that the boys weren't getting up to anything that would last more than a brief moment.

A brief, unbidden flash of anger seared his nerves as he made out the outline of his son's blonde head bending to kiss his boyfriend. How _dare_ they act like this in his presence? In his home? Like hormonal teenagers who'd only just discovered pleasure? An unwelcome voice reminded him that the two were exactly just that.

He should open his eyes. Clear his throat. Adjust his position. Anything to alert the boys that he wasn't slumbering nearly as hard as they had banked on.

Surely, he shouldn't embarrass Legolas like that, not with how new the boys’ affair was. It was clear to Thranduil that Legolas was deeply infatuated with the darling, auburn boy. How could he not be? Meludir was an intoxicating mixture of both stun gun and sweet sugar, and he had a sensuality that Legolas still lacked but would acquire in time. Back when he was that age, Thranduil would have happily bedded the charming boy, but he could see a tiredness in Meludir’s eyes when he spoke, an unwillingness to play coy games, a terrible lack of youthful, invigorating naïveté. Those things that really set him apart from someone like Legolas spoiled Meludir's allure for him. He chose not to ponder why his brain had supplied Legolas' name in the comparison.

That train of thought halted as he just made out the image of Meludir slide a hand up Legolas' thigh, all the way up, so slowly, and _he squeezed_. Legolas sighed, tamping the moan that threatened to whimper forth. He dug his fists into Meludir's loose hair, and Meludir pulled back from the kiss, pressing an index finger across Legolas' lips. “Shhhh,” he whispered, a gentle reminder that they could be discovered at any second.

“Want you so bad,” Legolas pleaded, the words muffled against Meludir's neck. Thranduil's body was taut, like a bowstring fitted with a flaming arrow. This was so much a deviation from decency, he was shocked at himself for not speaking up.

“Not here,” Meludir said.

“Let's go to my room,” Legolas practically begged. “My parents always knock.” Thranduil had never heard his son sound so needy and undone and so goddamn breathy. Well, only once before, but he wouldn't allow himself to think about that. He realized his brow had become damp. He really should do something about this situation. It was all a shambles. A complete… He didn’t know. It was torture.

After an eternal moment of agony, Thranduil forced his body to shift in his seat. He heard the two boys freeze, listening, watching him intently. Then, Meludir hastily answered, “Not now. Watch the movie.”

The next few minutes for Thranduil felt woozy and strange, as his body cooled and the turmoil in his head calmed. The credits began to roll. At length, he roused himself and said in a gravelly voice, “So, what's the verdict, Meludir?” He heard Meludir jerk in his seat, scrambling to separate himself from the pile of limbs they'd amassed.

“Really fantastic,” he blurted, having lost much of his earlier bravado in his frantic scramble to hide his still flaming hot arousal.

Thranduil raised the lights with the remote control in his lap, and he turned to look at the two boys, who sat rigid in their seats with guilty faces. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of Legolas' hair mussed and wild, his lips still dark and damp from the other boy's kiss. It was profane, really, his own son sitting before him looking so debauched, and the cause of the debauchery sitting there next to him, looking every inch ready to debauch the boy again.

“Good,” he said coolly, eyes not leaving Meludir's. “Now, I believe it's time for you to head home, Meludir. We have an early morning tomorrow.” He spent too long pronouncing the three silky syllables of the boy’s name for Legolas’ comfort.

“Ada,” Legolas interrupted. “Meludir could sleep here tonight. I mean, it makes sense since he's helping with the move tomorrow.” Legolas' eyes were pleading. Thranduil was tempted to give in to his son’s desire.

“Your mother and I want you to ourselves tonight,” Thranduil answered. Legolas looked extremely put out.

“It just doesn't make sense to have him drive all the way-”

“Legolas.”

“Nana’s not even here right-”

“Ion,” Thranduil barked, not quite a shout, but loud enough to cause Legolas' mouth to snap shut. Meludir cleared his throat and turned to Legolas. 

“It's okay, Legoland,” Meludir said softly. “I need a shower and a change of clothes anyway. Don't worry.” Legolas moped.

“Now, Legolas,” Thranduil said gently. “Would you be so kind as to walk Meludir to the door?” Legolas grumbled under his breath, but he acquiesced without further direction.

As the two stood on the front porch, the cool autumn air gusted around their entwined bodies, chilling them. “I had a nice night,” Meludir said, grasping Legolas' fingers in his own.

“Me, too,” Legolas said, ducking to hide a bashful smile. “I hate to see you go.”

“You know, I could always sneak into your bedroom and ravish you in the middle of the night,” Meludir offered nonchalantly. Legolas' eyes lit up, and he sank his fingers into Meludir’s hair. “Joking. I'm joking. Your father would kill me.”

“I'm sorry he's being so weird,” Legolas apologized. “I didn’t want to say anything, but yeah, I know he’s being super fucking weird. And like, he was never so weird with me and Tauriel, so like… I don’t..."

“I doubt you ever looked at Tauriel the way you look at me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Legolas said softly, moving in closer to the shorter boy. “And how is that exactly?” His mouth was so close to Meludir's now.

“Like you want to devour me,” he purred, voice dark and low. “Or be devoured.”

Legolas leaned in closer, nearly sealing the gap between the two of them. He breathed in Meludir's warm scent, felt his sweet breath upon his lips, ached for the touch of his hands on his sensitive skin. Their lips had just barely ghosted over each other's when the porch light began to flicker rapidly. They jumped apart. Legolas gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes.

“My adar's idea of a joke,” he growled. “I'll see you tomorrow.” Meludir gave his hand a final squeeze and disappeared into the night. Legolas trudged back inside, but his father was nowhere to be seen. He stomped up to his bedroom and threw himself onto his warm, deep bed. He lay in the dark room, lit only by the string of fairy lights above his head and the moonlight trickling in through the treetops and gauze-covered windows. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Tauriel> Are we still moving you in tomorrow?  
Me> Who's we?  
Tauriel> Well, I assume me and Melu  
Me> Please, don't trouble yourself  
Tauriel> Hey, I said I'd make it up to you  
Tauriel> I really am sorry for being a shitty friend lately  
Me> Do what you want. We're leaving here at 9 tomorrow morning  
Tauriel> I won't be late  
Me> Okay

And as an afterthought, he added:

Me> Bring donuts, you piece of shit

He clicked his phone off and rested his head on his interlaced hands. Most of his belongings remained unpacked; his posters and souvenirs remained on the walls; most of his records remained on the shelf, though he had chosen a select few to bring with him along with the record player and vintage box speakers. 

This room was always going to be home in his mind. Every corner had memories, from the far wall where, as a toddler, he had decided to paint a mural with nana's favorite lipstick, to the window sill where he had accidentally dropped his first MP3 player down into the swimming pool a full storey below, to the foot of the bed where he had just spent half an hour making out with Meludir earlier that night. 

Tomorrow was going to hurt like a bitch, but it would be worth it. He needed a break from the surreal dementia that was twisting him in knots. He put on a record, an old favorite that unfortunately hadn't made the short list for the dorm move. He took off his pants and shirt and lay on the dark wooden floor in the middle of the room in his underwear, flat on his back, hair fanned out in a platinum nimbus, arms and legs splayed, and he let the washed out wall of guitar music crash over and through him.

He lifted up the smudgy pink album cover for inspection, fingering the frayed edge of the spine. "I'll miss you, _Loveless_ ," he sighed. "You've served me well." He flopped the sleeve back to the floor and closed his eyes.

 

He woke some time later, well into the early hours of the morning. The record had long since played out. He thought he heard his mother's voice echo down the hallway. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew he really should go chat with her for a little while, knowing how sentimental she had gotten lately about him moving. The move wasn't easy for Legolas, but it was downright hard for his mother, he knew, especially since she'd had so little time to prepare for the loss of her only child.

Pulling on some jeans, he padded down the stairs and through the hallway to his parents' room. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open. The sight that met his eyes made his body freeze and his heart plummet into his stomach.

Their bed was a riot of pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. In the mess, his mother was on her knees, face down on the mattress, clothes a rumpled wreck on the floor, as Thranduil, stripped of every stitch of clothing, slammed into her from behind. The floor-to-ceiling wall of window behind him displayed a mirror image of his sculpted backside, flexed hard in the frantic pumping of his hips. His fingers dug into her hips, and his hair hung in tendrils down his shoulders, his face twisted in brilliant agony as she took what she was given.

Legolas couldn't breathe. His whole existence narrowed down to the image of his father's statuesque, taut, naked abdomen and the wild, dark passion in his eyes as they connected with his own. His father looked like a porn star. Thranduil thrust hard again and again, before he came with a feral growl, never once breaking his gaze on Legolas. Sabariel's high moans broke his trance, and Legolas fled towards safety.

He ran. He ran as fast as he could without slipping on the polished floor and flung his bedroom door shut behind him. He leaned against the cool wood, panting hard, fighting for breath. He bit into the meat of his palm, desperately trying to blank the image of his parents from his mind. He failed.

He fell to his knees and fumbled open the fly of his jeans. He slid down his underwear to mid-thigh and pulled his half-hard cock out, spat into his palm, and began stroking himself, free hand braced against the floor. He pictured Meludir's hot, wet mouth on his dick as he jerked himself to a quick, dirty little orgasm.

It wasn't enough. He beat his fist into the floor with a growl, pain screaming through his arm. His skin was still crawling with need and hunger. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. This wasn’t _fucking_ enough.

 

“Thranduil,” Sabariel panted as she rolled onto her back. She laughed despite her exhaustion. “We haven't made love like that in.. I don’t…” He collapsed onto the bed next to her.

“I guess I just miss you when you go away,” he said, lovingly smoothing her hair out of her face. He bent over her to kiss her eyes.

“You were like a wild man,” she sighed, laughing. “And you’ve been insatiable since I got back last night.” She laughed softly. “I guess I need to go away more often.”

“Don't,” he commanded jokingly. “I couldn't bear it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” she sighed again, jerking the sheets from under his heavy frame. Thranduil shifted, then he lay stroking her hair for a few moments more, before she thoughtfully said, “You know, if we keep this up, I think we're going to be okay.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said. She snuggled against him, with a soft smile, and he watched her for a while as she slowly fell asleep, wishing in vain that he could feel the same peace. A voice nagged at him that he had just done something very, very wrong, that a very uncrossable boundary had been crossed. He willed it away and fell into restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZVkpfNHU0X2p3UGc)'s their home theater. You can see three different shots of their home exterior [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZeWJhUlJvSW1VdTA), [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZOVVhZGxRR3BXZkE), and [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZSTI0U2k3bTVJN3M).
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Come In Alone](https://youtu.be/-JjkQmPI9qs)" by My Bloody Valentine.
> 
> Also, let me know if you caught the very fic-appropriate pop culture reference I hid in this chapter. The first person to get it right gets a free one-shot piece dedicated to them, which I'll post on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).
> 
> Again, thank you so much for your reviews, kudos and bookmarks. It means more than you know.


	11. Chapter 11

“I can’t believe she forgot,” Legolas grumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Actually, scratch that. I can.” He searched down the long sidewalk past the line of parallel parked cars lit by dashes of golden, late morning sunlight punching through the red and yellow canopy above them. “I mean, I figured she’d be late and miss packing up at my house, but…”

He had woken up in a sour mood, the night of fitful sleep and looming dread having left him exhausted by the time his alarm clock had gone off. Breakfast had been a solemn, silent affair during which the two men had gratefully let Sabariel do the talking. By the time Meludir had arrived at the house, the only word Legolas had managed to say to his father was a returned _good morning_ that had left his cheeks burning in awkward guilt before they’d even sat down to eat the wheat toast and scrambled egg whites Thranduil had made the three of them.

Meludir shook his hair from his eyes as he heaved another box from the trunk of Legolas’ car. “She’ll be here, at least to help you unpack everything,” he said softly. “Chill.” Balancing the box on one hip, he brushed his fingertips reassuringly against Legolas’ bare arm and then reached to wipe the light sheen of sweat from his boyfriend’s brow. Legolas pursed his lips in a grateful smile.

“Are we all unpacked?” Sabariel asked, descending the grand staircase at the entrance of the stately Kingshall. She pulled the last trash bag full of clothes from the back seat of Legolas’ car and slung the door shut with her hip.

“What about the stuff you ordered from IKEA?” Legolas asked, slamming the boot shut. He leaned against the back of the car and pressed his palms against the warm metal. Meludir leaned next to him, having gently discarded the cardboard box on the pavement.

“They’ll deliver it later today,” she answered, then turned to Meludir. “You okay, honey?”

“Fine,” he answered, a little faint. “Bit hungry.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” came a voice from behind the group, “’cause I’ve got donuts.” Tauriel loped up to the group and presented a box of donuts to Legolas with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry I’m late. My phone died, and my alarm didn't go off.” He remained frozen where he was, openly glaring. Meludir gladly plucked the box from her hands and opened it on the boot of the car.

“Food,” he groaned, as he attacked the box’s contents. Presently, Thranduil descended the marble steps leading to the dorm entrance. He looked decidedly relaxed in his dark jeans and tweed jacket, hair pulled up into a ponytail that cascaded down the middle of his back. He joined the group gathered around Legolas’ car. Meludir rushed to offer assistance between bites of plain glazed.

“Anything I can do, Professor Oropherion?” He offered.

Thranduil shook his head, then he glowered at Tauriel as he went to double check the front and back seats of his own car nearby. “Tauriel,” he said with an arch expression as he passed her.

“Oropherion,” she replied in a stiff tone.

“Finish those papers yet?” He asked coolly, pushing his glasses up his long nose as he returned to the group and reached for a crueller. She smirked.

“Last night, sir. They’re on your desk.”

He remained unimpressed as he ate. “About time.” Sabariel rolled her eyes and finally squeezed Tauriel in a side hug.

“Tauriel,” Sabariel said fondly, “he may not know how to say thank you, but I do. The donuts were a stroke of brilliance.” Tauriel nodded and smiled at the kind woman, then turned to Meludir.

“Hey, Melly Mel, long time no see,” she said.

“How’s the new boyfriend, Tau?” He asked, his face bright and friendly. Legolas wished he wouldn’t be so nice to her, regardless of the fact that he and Melu would never have even met had she not introduced the two of them last summer when Legolas had tagged along with her to the archery range and practically begged her for the name of the cute auburn haired boy working at the front desk.

“Better than the last one!” She joked, glancing at Legolas in the vain attempt to make him laugh, but his sour expression was all she received for her effort. Then she clearly recalled the months of lying and pretense she’d never apologized for and quickly turned to face Sabariel and Thranduil. “About that… What you’ve got to understand…”

“We already understand,” Sabariel stopped her, genuine warmth pouring from her in waves. She placed a palm against Tauriel’s shoulder. “Thank you for being there for Legolas when he needed you,” she said pointedly, giving her sullen son a meaningful sidelong glance. Legolas rolled his eyes and marched inside, Meludir giving a long-suffering sigh before chasing after him. By the time the lift arrived in the lobby, the three others had caught up, and the group rode up to the third floor together.

“Damn, Legolas,” Tauriel said as they entered the dorm. She set the cardboard box and the donuts down by the door. “You call this a _dorm_? It’s bigger than my whole apartment.” She glanced around, good natured envy written on her face. He grabbed his biceps, cradling himself, and shrugged.

“Nana’s going to decorate it,” he said quietly. “It’ll be really nice, then.”

“Oh, Sab, you’re great at decorating,” Tauriel said enthusiastically. The older woman said nothing, but her smile spoke of self assurance and a small degree of pleased smugness.

“That’s what I said,” Mithrandir interrupted as he paraded in with a group of students in tow. They all lined up next to him and waited to speak. “Legolas, meet your new neighbors. I understand you've met Frodo and Sam already, but these-“ he said, gesturing to two tall, broad shouldered men, “are Aragorn and Boromir, both here from Gondor. Roomates.”

“Pleasure,” Legolas said as he ducked down to shake their hands. They echoed the sentiment.

“We’re Merry and Pippin,” announced another Halfling as the two burst into the room behind the group. Mithrandir rolled his eyes and heaved an impatient sigh.

“They’re Merry and Pippin,” he said gravely. “They don’t live here.”

“Gandalf!” Said Merry or Pippin. Legolas wasn’t sure which was which. “How dare you! We supply quality greenery for the privilege of kicking it in Frodo and Sam’s place.”

“Merry-“

“ _Greenery_?” Thranduil asked with a deeply unamused scowl. The short boy, who Legolas now assumed was Merry, just noticed the tall, imposing figure looming behind his new neighbor, and he turned to Pippin with round eyes and a slack mouth.

“Uhh…”

After a moment, Pippin leaned in. “Cabbages,” he said. “Cabbages and…”

“Carrots!” Merry finally interjected, nodding rapidly. “That we grow. Legally.”

“Agriculture majors, we two!” Pippin confirmed, pointing a thumb at his chest. “Ask Gandalf!” Thranduil turned to the RA and lifted an expectant eyebrow.

“Do you know anything about this… _Gandalf_?” He asked Mithrandir. The RA lifted his hands and laughed.

“As far as I can tell,” he swore, “cabbages and carrots aren’t against the campus bylaws.” Thranduil wasn’t impressed or convinced by this roundabout answer. Mithrandir dug his hands into his pockets and raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, that’s all of us,” he continued, pausing to count the heads of the odd fellowship that now stood in Legolas’ entrance. “Wait, there’s one-“

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” came an outraged voice from the doorway. Legolas realized the source of the voice and his lip curled in disgust as he took in the sight of the short, kinda husky redhead who had just entered, all skinny jeans and tailored flannel shirts.

“ _You_?” Legolas growled. Immediately, he turned to his father imploringly. “Ada-“

“You’re Gloin’s boy, right?” Thranduil interrupted, his voice a hard edge, eyes honed on the Dwarf. Gimli looked up at Thranduil without a drop of effort to conceal his distaste.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” He bitterly snapped. Meludir’s eyes grew like saucers. The rest of the group watched the exchange like a particularly unfriendly tennis match.

“How’s good, old Gloin these day?” Thranduil asked, boredom and disdain dripping from each word.

“Much better,” was Gimli’s steely reply. “Now that the… issue of my enrollment here is no longer a subject of contention.”

“Ah, yes,” Thranduil replied, every inch of his rather substantial height frigid as an iceberg. “And happy we are that it was sorted to his and your satisfaction.” The two stared each other down for several moments. Thranduil was calm, detached, untouched. Gimli shook with poorly concealed anger, his fists clenched and his jaw tight.

“ _Soooo_ , right on, man,” Mithrandir interrupted awkwardly. “That’s everyone from your floor. If you need anything, these are your dudes. Anyway, we’ll be on our way now. Let you get settled.” The spell abruptly ended, and the group of Legolas' new neighbors trod out with a chorus of _seeya_ s and _later_ s, barring a single exception. Mithrandir pulled the door closed behind them.

“I can’t believe this!” Legolas growled, jerking free of Meludir’s concerned grasp and marching around the corner into his small, private bathroom. He slammed the door shut. Immediately, Sabariel and Tauriel rushed to talk some sense into him. Thranduil looked at Meludir and heaved a tired sigh. Meludir’s stomach knotted.

“Wow,” he said breathily. “That was tense.” Thranduil shrugged and loped over to the sofa against the far wall. Meludir joined him.

“Not as tense as it’s going to be for Legolas, I imagine,” he answered. Meludir glanced in the direction of the bathroom, listening to the two women’s pleas for Legolas to just open the door and come out. “Why aren’t you over there trying to coax him out? He listens to you.” Meludir rolled his eyes, pushing a gust of breath through his nose.

“I know what he’s like when it comes to that Dwarf,” the young man answered. “And what he’s like in general. He’ll come out when he’s ready.” Thranduil quietly regarded the young boy, who flushed most charmingly when he realized the older man was looking at him.

“Yes,” he finally said, “Legolas can be very stubborn. I don’t know where he gets it from.” He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the irony. Of course, he knew where his son had learned his willful manner. He and his dear boy were near carbon copies in most respects.

“I think you and Legolas are strikingly similar,” Meludir noted cautiously, following Thranduil’s unspoken train of thought. Thranduil nearly laughed out loud at the young man’s cheek.

“Oh? How so?” He dared the boy. Meludir hesitated.

“I probably shouldn’t say,” he answered, heart pounding at the challenge.

“Well,” Thranduil purred. “Now, you have to tell me.” Daft with bravery, Meludir lifted a loose tendril of Thranduil’s platinum hair with unsteady fingertips. He hoped Thranduil didn’t notice his hand shaking. He would be oh so brave. He opened his mouth to speak but then nearly jumped from his skin when Sabariel walked into the sitting area, her heels clicking on the polished wooden floor. She perched on an unpacked box next to the sofa. Meludir pulled his hand away from Thranduil as though being burned, though not quickly enough to escape Sabariel’s cool observation. He scrambled to his feet, offering her a spot on the small sofa. She waved away the offer, and he sat back down again on the far edge of the seat.

“Tauriel’s in there with him now,” she said, pulling out her phone. 

“Legolas, why are you so upset about this?” Tauriel demanded softly, as she shut the bathroom door behind herself. She looked down at him sitting on the edge of the tub as she leaned against the closed door. He was fuming, and the apples of his cheeks were pink in annoyance. Tauriel fought back a laugh at the perfect image of boyish stubbornness that sat before her. “Legolas.”

“Because I can’t fucking stand that guy!” He growled. Tauriel sighed and sat down next to him. He jerked away from her and stood up to lean against the sink. “And you know damn well that that stupid, fucking Dwarf isn’t the only problem.”

“Legolas-“

“Whatever happened to ‘bros before hoes,’ Tauriel?” Legolas asked, though even as the words left his mouth he could hear how stupid they were. His father would have told him to stop being petulant. His rebuke had its intended effect, though. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed again.

“You’re right, man,” she admitted. “I’m crazy about this guy, and it’s making me lose sight of things.” Legolas scoffed. She looked up at him with wet eyes. “Seriously, Legolas. I can’t explain it. I know we’re moving so fast, but he makes me feel like… I don’t know. Like I can do so much better than what I’ve been settling for. He makes me believe in myself.”

“If he’s so great, Tau,” Legolas growled, “How come no one’s met him?”

“Your ada’s met him,” she defended weakly. Legolas shook his head.

“Oh, so now my ada’s so important to you?” He barked with a cruel laugh. “Giving up on earning your A the old-fashioned way?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who wants to fuck your ada,” she said viperishly. Legolas’ mouth dropped open, and he glared at her fiercely.

“I want no such thing,” he hissed.

“ _Wow_ , I was talking about Meludir,” she said, her hands raised in front of her. “Why would you even…” Legolas ground his teeth and choked for a decent breath of air.

“What are you talking about?” He demanded. Her shoulders dropped, and she drummed her thumbs against her knees.

“Look, this is stupid. Can we not fight?” She asked. He didn’t answer. “What are you doing Saturday for lunch? We could get something to eat together, and you can meet Kili.” She held out her hand. He just stared at it for a moment. At length, he reached out and shook it.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agreed. He turned to open the door, but before he could turn the knob, Tauriel reached out and stopped him. “What?”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” she started, “but I think you really should watch Meludir.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Tau?” Legolas asked softly, exhausted.

“Last I saw, he was practically sitting in your father’s lap,” she explained. “I mean, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, you know, ‘cause it’s _Meludir_ , but yeah.” Legolas gawped at her like she had grown an extra head, but when he opened the door and they joined the rest of the group in the sitting area, he couldn’t help but notice that Meludir’s body and attention were attuned completely to Thranduil’s every action.

The auburn boy’s laugh was too loud and too long when his ada cracked a joke. Meludir held his own hands too tightly in his lap, as though struggling to keep himself from reaching out. Had Meludir always acted that way? Legolas especially didn’t like how his father practically glowed under all the attention. He made a very wary mental note.

 

His parents had left shortly after the boxes from IKEA arrived. Tauriel hadn’t stayed much longer after, making her excuses regarding some sort of overdue paper, but Legolas had the sneaking suspicion that her quick exit had more to do with the stream of texts she’d been receiving for the past half an hour.

Meludir lay on the thick mattress they’d casually left in the middle of the room, his hair tumbling down around his shoulders. Legolas stood over him, just looking, just drinking in the soft lines and pale skin of the boy below him. Meludir looked up at him with warm eyes and a beckoning gesture. Legolas pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and knelt down to straddle the boy’s hips, bending to press a soft kiss against Meludir’s pillowy lips.

“I want you,” he whispered, sliding his hands into Meludir’s silky hair. He kissed him again, then slid off his shirt.

“Want you, too,” Meludir answered, “but we are _not_ fucking on a bed with no sheets.” Legolas nipped Meludir’s lower lip mischievously.

“And how about the floor? The shower? My desk?”

Meludir laughed. “Your desk is currently sitting in several pieces in that box over there, awaiting assembly.”

“Melu,” Legolas nearly whined. He flopped over onto his side, legs still tangled around the other boy. Meludir shushed him, snuggling closer against his naked chest and resting his eyes. Legolas wasn’t sure how long the two of them had laid there, but the bright warmth of the sunlight filtering in through the window had left him slightly damp with perspiration when he finally built up the courage to ask, “Can we just lay naked together for a while?”

Meludir squeezed his hand gently. “That’s what you want?”

“Yeah,” Legolas answered, leaning over Meludir and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Then that’s what I want,” he said, toeing off his sneakers. “But I swear to Eru, we’re putting a sheet down first.” Legolas watched him as he dug through a few unpacked trash bags before he gave a triumphant sound and pulled a meticulously folded white sheet from the mess. 

Legolas rose and helped Meludir billow out the sheet over the bare mattress. Legolas felt hazy and warm as the sheet slowly sank down. He pulled Meludir with him onto the bed and watched as the auburn boy unbuttoned his own jeans and slid them down his sculpted thighs in one smooth motion, taking the socks with them as they went. Meludir batted Legolas’ hands away when he went to take off his own jeans. Meludir set to work, and when Legolas’ hard cock sprang forth from the waistband of his underwear, the blonde blushed madly.

“Melu-”

“Ah, so this was all a clever ruse,” Meludir said warmly, mischief crackling in his eyes. “You didn’t want to cuddle at all. For shame, Legolas.” Legolas’ breathing hitched at the stern rebuke in Meludir’s tone. “What should I do with you?”

“Bad boys get spankings,” Legolas answered, shocked at himself even as the words fell from his lips. Meludir arched an eyebrow.

“Mmm, perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “But you’ve not been naughty enough to warrant anything like that… yet.” He drank in the image of Legolas’ body prone on the soft white sheets, ethereal in a nimbus of heavenly sunlight. He noticed Legolas’ hands clinging onto fistfuls of bed sheet. He smiled gently and ran his fingertips from collarbone down to hipbone, thrilling in the shiver that overcame Legolas. “I just had a delicious idea.”

“Yeah?” Legolas sighed, his flesh screaming out for more of Meludir’s touch.

“Yeah,” Meludir answered, sliding into position next to Legolas, side by side. “I want to watch you like this, hard and needy.” Legolas nearly moaned.

“Melu, that’s unfair!” Legolas begged, again surprised at how easily and naturally he fit into the dance Meludir was leading. His toes nearly curled.

Meludir chuckled, low and sweet, the steady drip of melted chocolate. “It was your idea, penneth.” Legolas shivered again. “I’ll be merciful,” he whispered, nipping Legolas’ earlobe. He turned over onto his stomach and dragged his lips down to Legolas’ pebbled nipple. “Are you sensitive here?”

“I don’t think so,” Legolas whispered.

“We’ll see,” Meludir said almost self-indulgently. He bent his head down and dragged the flat of his tongue straight up in a cat-like lap. Legolas’ skin crawled deliciously, reveling in the now teasing swirls of Melu’s tongue. He nearly came unglued when Meludir sucked the swollen flesh between his lips, nips tiny baby bites with his teeth. Legolas groaned.

“Harder. With your teeth,” he begged. Meludir braced his warm palm against Legolas’ hip and sank his teeth into the aching bud gingerly. Legolas trembled like a leaf. He hissed, “Yessss. The other one now.” Meludir followed his command gladly, teasing the other nipple until it was red and swollen and glistening with his saliva. He glanced at Legolas’ cock straining against his belly, leaking a thick stream of shining precome.

“You know I’m going to leave you like this, don't you?” Meludir asked in a flash of affectionate cruelty. Legolas groaned, throwing his head back against the mattress. Meludir grabbed his face and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Legolas twisted, aching to rub his cock against Meludir’s, but Meludir steadied the blonde’s hips against the bed. “Ah ah.”

Legolas chuckled breathily. “This is so unfair.”

“And so hot.”

“Fuck you,” Legolas whispered, pulling Meludir in for another ferocious kiss. “You’re so fucking good at driving me crazy.” Meludir laid down next to him again, pressing a kiss to Legolas’ bare shoulder. He wound his fingers through Legolas’ and gazed down at their bodies spread out on the bed, cocks aching against their bellies.

“We’re so beautiful,” Meludir panted. Legolas agreed with a high pitched whine.

“Can I…” He began. “Can I take a picture of us like this?” Meludir groped around on the floor next to the mattress with his free hand, digging through Legolas’ discarded jeans. He dropped the phone onto Legolas’ chest.

“You sexy deviant.”

Legolas took a picture, then clicked his phone off and cast it aside. “You’re not really going to leave me like this, are you?” He whispered, drawing Meludir’s earlobe between his teeth. Meludir shuddered. He paused a moment before his resolve broke.

“Get your arse over here,” he snarled, pulling Legolas on top of him. Legolas’ knees fell to either side of his hips, and he snaked his body forward, rubbing his length against Meludir’s. The auburn boy spit into his hand and wrapped it around their joined cocks and began stroking. Legolas gasped at the sensation of smooth and rough skin rubbing against him in tandem. He already felt his balls drawing in tight; he wouldn’t be long.

“I’m gonna be-” He gasped at the delicious curl of Meludir’s fingers against the crown of his cock. “Be embarrassingly quick about this.” Meludir laughed, but it came out as a choked groan.

“Come on me,” he sighed, his thick, dark eyelashes fluttering against his high cheekbones. He threw his head back against the mattress, baring the long column of his pale neck. “Come on my chest, baby.” Legolas bit back a moan, tendrils of hot pleasure curling through his body.

“Melu!” He moaned, bracing a shaking hand against Meludir’s shoulder as the pleasure unfurled from the constant, agonizing slide of his balls against the base of Meludir’s cock. He nearly blacked out at the vision of the thin lines of his come blossoming across Meludir’s taut, pale chest, painting vines from the root of his long throat to the aching red buds of his nipples. Scant heartbeats passed before Meludir’s grip on their cocks tightened, and the boy practically screamed his release, his own spend mingling with Legolas’. 

He groaned low and long. A possessive animal roared to life within Legolas for the debauched Vala that lay before between his legs. He pulled back his wild hair with one hand and bent to lap up the come streaking Meludir’s shaking body. He groaned. The fire in Legolas’ eyes blazed when he grabbed Meludir’s chin with his free hand and pressed the boy’s lips open. Meludir reached out his tongue hungrily, and Legolas spit their load into his waiting mouth before pulling him in for another needy kiss. He pulled away to admire his handiwork, the smear of come across Meludir’s lips. His heart flipped as he watched Meludir swallow.

“Saucy minx,” Meludir whispered. “Where’d you learn that one?” Legolas smirked coyly and looked away from Meludir’s warm eyes.

“I read a lot of fan fiction,” he admitted. Meludir laughed.

“You adorable nerd.”

 

They showered and laid together long past the setting of the sun, wrapped in each other’s arms on the rumpled bed sheet. At length, Legolas quietly asked, “What do you think about my father?”

Meludir didn’t answer for a while. He shifted up onto an elbow and peered down at Legolas. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember when I told you about… the accident?” Legolas asked, blushing crimson. “Ai, Eru. I can’t believe I’m even bringing this up.” Meludir’s forehead scrunched in concern. 

“It’s okay, Legolas.”

Legolas sighed deeply. “That night, when I told you, you said that you thought my father was a really attractive man.”

“Yeah, I mean, for his age, but…” Meludir began. “Legolas, I was drunk as hell that night. I can’t remember even half of what I said. I think I was mostly just trying to stop you from freaking out.”

“Yeah, but you said…”

“Legolas,” Meludir said gently, if severely. “Are you worried that I’m attracted to your father?”

“Well,” he said helplessly, his voice rising in emotion. “I mean, you act like a schoolgirl around him. No offense.” Legolas turned on his side, fighting the ugly feelings flooding his mind.

Meludir sighed, rolling onto his back. He rubbed his eyes fiercely. “Legoland, the man’s damn impressive. I won’t pretend he’s not. And sure, he’s handsome. He’s… Daddy, in every sense of the word.” Legolas tensed, the confessions striking him like a hammer. “But honestly, I don’t need that. I need you.” Meludir grasped Legolas’ hand and pressed the fingers against his lips. The gush of breath against Legolas’ skin fortified him, almost as much as Meludir awkwardly muttering, “And, I mean, he’s so _old_.”

“He’s not _that_ old,” Legolas defended the man reflexively.

“Legolas.” Meludir slid a warm palm across Legolas’ cheek. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he is.” He nervously chewed his bottom lip before adding, “But it’s just not like that. I... saw how you were acting last night when I was chatting with him, and I just...” Legolas blanched, praying he hadn’t been so transparent. “You don’t have to be jealous. To me, he’s this intimidating, impressive father… figure, which is weird for me because, you know, I never really had one, and I don’t have any kind of reference, and I just…” Legolas could see that Meludir was struggling. He wished he knew what to say in that moment. “At any rate, I would hope you know that my feelings are for you and you only.” He glanced away, hoping to hide his flushed cheeks. “You know, as schoolgirlish as I seem at times.”

“But Melu,” he whined playfully, “aren’t you supposed to be perfect?”

“Hang me, Legoland, but it’s just quite possible that I might not be perfect.”

Legolas nodded once and pressed his lips together in a small smile. “I forgive you.”

The feelings of jealousy… He couldn’t deny that they _had_ sprung from Meludir’s apparent crush on Thranduil. And yet, Legolas couldn’t fathom why he still felt bone-deep apprehension about the whole situation. Unbidden came the memory of Thranduil, stark naked, body taut with animalistic thrusting, his eyes trained on Legolas. Legolas swallowed down burgeoning dread. He pulled Meludir closer and just breathed in his scent until they both finally dozed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the de-aged [Mithrandir](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2Zdlp3ZVAtQmV0eVU), and here's hipster [Gimli](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZUkxfc0p4QnZmbkE).
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Come Undone](https://youtu.be/ICnlyNUt_0o)" by Duran Duran. This video is kind of cheesy, retro sexy, and I love it without any shame. Plus Simon LeBon is a total babe.
> 
> Thanks a million times for leaving feedback, and if you'd like to catch moodboards and fan art, follow [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I just posted the picture/music links for Chapter 11, but I'll temporarily post them here so that you don't have to go back to that chapter to have a look.
> 
> "Here's the de-aged [Mithrandir](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2Zdlp3ZVAtQmV0eVU), and here's hipster [Gimli](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZUkxfc0p4QnZmbkE).
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Come Undone](https://youtu.be/ICnlyNUt_0o)" by Duran Duran. This video is kind of cheesy, retro sexy, and I love it without any shame. Plus Simon LeBon is a total babe."

“A little bit higher, love,” Sabariel directed, leaning backwards, her face screwed in concentration. Legolas strained to hang the poster further up the tall white brick wall while gripping the black steel ladder that led up to the loft with his left hand. “Careful, babe.” He pressed the adhesive firmly against the wall and then grasped the ladder with both hands. “You know, I think we’re nearly done here.”

“How does it look?” He asked his mother as she scrutinized the wall from across the room.

“Not half bad,” she said with satisfaction. “But more importantly, what do you think?” Legolas climbed down from the ladder and went to stand next to his mother, observing the wall with her.

“I like it,” he finally said. She lowered her face and indulged in a secret moment.

“You know, it took a lot more convincing to turn your father to my way of thinking.” Legolas gazed down on his mother from her perch atop the ladder, and his heart surged with sadness and love. She gazed up at him again and asked, “You still sure you don’t want to put your bed up in the loft?” Her tone indicated very much that this was a better idea. “It’ll feel more like a proper bedroom.” Legolas shook his head despite the pains of deliberation and the recollection of Meludir’s beautiful body stretched out on the floor below.

“Nah, nana,” he insisted. “It’ll be perfect shoved into that corner under the window right there,” he added, and the two bent and heaved the mattress into the corner. She stepped back and reassessed the room.

“Good call, Pegleg,” she said. “Now you have more floor space.” She dusted her hands against her dark jeans and seated herself on the edge of the sofa. “Be a dear and bring your tired mother something cool to drink?” Legolas quickly fetched two sparkling waters from the mini fridge in the kitchenette and twisted the top off, offering the bottle to his mother as he sat next to her.

“The place looks great now,” Legolas noted after a while. “I think I'll be able to settle in okay.” She smiled and took a drag of her drink.

“Won’t get too homesick?” She teased. He leaned against her and gave her a gentle shove. They sat in silence for a moment, taking periodical sips of Perrier. “Legolas,” she said, and he grew nervous at the hesitation in her voice. “There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about.”

A familiar weight settled in Legolas’ chest and he asked, “Is it about me lying to you guys, ‘cause I meant to have a talk with you-”

“No, I had a long talk with your ada, and he explained to me what you told him,” she quickly said. “And your being gay hasn’t changed how I feel about you in the slightest. I just figured that we’d talk about it when you felt comfortable bringing it up.” She paused, and Legolas gazed fixedly at the green bottle in his hands. “No, it's something else.” Legolas swallowed hard before clearing his throat.

“What's up?” The dam in his throat wouldn’t loosen. He took a solidifying swig of water.

She chewed her lip for a moment then turned to look at her son. “Is everything okay between you and your ada?” Legolas' heart twisted, and he struggled to find what to say next. 

“What d'you mean?” He asked, trying and failing to speak evenly, nonchalantly.

“It’s just… You didn't even look at each other yesterday,” she said, brow wrought with worry. “I'm concerned that he's not taking your move very well. He hasn't said as much, but you know him. I mean, I knew going into the marriage that he could often be…”

“A dick.”

“Rough around the edges,” she finished, pursing her lips in disapproval. “You know how hard it is for him to show his emotions. His father was always pretty hard on him, and it really affected the way he expresses himself.”

“I know, nana.” 

“I know you do,” she reasoned. “I just don't want you to think your adar is angry with you or hurt by your decision to spread your wings, just because he’s acting… as usual.” Legolas released his breath slowly.

“No, I know,” he answered. “I don't think there's anything... Like, I think things are fine.” Sabariel reached out and grabbed his hand. They locked eyes. Legolas suddenly felt like a rabbit in the middle of a desert, trapped in the sight of a clever hawk swirling down ever closer from above him. Few things escaped her observation, especially when she was already suspicious.

“Are you sure things are normal between you and your father?” She asked point blank, and Legolas wavered under the intensity of her concern. “If he’s done anything to upset you-”

“No!” Legolas snapped, then softly, he repeated, “No, he didn’t do anything.”

“Well, if you ever feel that we aren’t there for you…” She began, then she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I’ll not have you hurt by the problems between your father and I. Those are our own issues to work through, and he and I both agreed to be there in every way we could for you. Are you absolutely sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied, though he didn't even sound convincing to himself, his voice ringing hollow. In Legolas’ mind, there was quite clearly a huge mountain of shit between his father and him at the moment, and Legolas was just barely winning the battle of keeping it well hidden behind a bathroom stall door in the back alleys of his mind. He felt shaky and frail. Lying to his mother was never easy or enjoyable, even when he hadn’t spend weeks agonizing over a heavy secret.

“You're not upset about... anything?”

“Upset about what?” Legolas' heart was pounding in his chest so loudly, he thought his floormates could probably hear it. She scrutinized him for a moment, the way she scrutinized her handiwork with the decor, looking to suss out any inconsistency, anything that wasn't quite right. Legolas ground his teeth involuntarily, and his grip on the green glass bottle in his hand nearly shattered it.

“How are you and Meludir doing?” She asked without expression, eyes darting once to his white knuckles.

“Great,” Legolas quickly answered. He cringed at the hostile, defensive edge to his tone. Sabariel didn't respond for a moment.

“You know your adar loves you so much, right?” She said cautiously. “He would never do anything to hurt you.” Legolas' eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“There are things... Just... there are some things you don't know about your adar,” she said, her brow twisted with inner conflict. “Things that are his business to share. Just... Elbereth, I don't know how to put this into words.”

“Are you talking about the… bisexuality thing?” Legolas asked, and his face flooded red.

“You know?” She asked, and her shock was just barely apparent in the subtle rise of her sculpted brow. 

“It, uh, it came up in conversation,” he answered vaguely. “Why are you bringing it up now?” Sabariel now seemed at a loss for words, and the edges of Legolas' vision grew dark with panic. His fought to keep his breath from coming in shallow bursts.

“You know,” she began, eyes darting away from her son, “it's silly. Never mind.”

“Why?” He demanded, his voice raised in emotion. Sabariel was taken aback, but the gears in her head were turning.

“It just... seemed…” She began, and Legolas fought to keep from screaming Yes?! Yes?! It seemed...? “I know you don't want to hear this, but Meludir seems quite taken with your father, I'm sorry to say.” All at once, relief whooshed over Legolas, and he started to laugh, an uncontrollable bubble of giddiness. He felt a little crazy with it. “Legolas?”

“Nana,” Legolas laughed, tension fleeing his chest. “I’m really not worried about that. It's just hero worship.” Legolas regained his composure and took a swig of his drink. “There’s no reason to be worried about it.”

“I see,” she said, though every inch of her figure broadcast that she didn't quite buy the explanation. With a sigh, she added hollowly, “Besides, it's Thranduil we're talking about. He’d cut out his own heart before doing anything to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Legolas agreed shakily. “And he wouldn't cheat on you.”

What was undoubtedly meant to be a declaration of support came out flat, as a declaration of despair. Sabariel’s eyes snapped once more to his, intense and surgical in their focus, and Legolas seized again. A caul of guilt fell over him, dimming his very soul. He wished he could reach out to her, tell her that she could always count on her two boys, but his mouth was stuck shut with unspoken doubt. With a rush of self-loathing, he realized that it would have been a lie on both counts. He brushed the thought away immediately.

“Well,” she said, brightening somewhat, eyes still trained on her withering son. “It was silly to bring up. Just the insecurities of a silly woman. Perhaps, I shouldn't have said anything.” She pressed her palm to his cheek and her eyes grew heavy. He smiled ruefully. She didn’t smile back.

“I love you, nana,” he said. Before he could stop himself, “I'm sorry” came tumbling out right after.

“Why are you sorry, ion nin?” She asked steadily, withdrawing her hand.

Legolas thought for a moment. He glanced up at her face for a second before returning his stare to the bottle in his hand. “I don't know.”

“Well,” she said stiffly. “Whatever it is, I forgive you.” She smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his troubled brow. “You couldn't possibly do any wrong in my eyes. You’re my little man.”

In a moment of uncharacteristic bitterness, he murmured pitifully, “Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way eventually.” She stared at him, calculating.

“Is there something you'd like to confess?” She asked softly, suspicion just barely rising in her voice. The gut-wrenching fear took over Legolas again, and he tried to swallow the knot out of his throat. He was drowning. It was there, on the tip of his tongue.

He could tell her. He could admit it all. What happened in the public toilet that horrible, fucked up night. The unsettling silences he and Thranduil had shared since then. Last night when Thranduil had practically fucking _performed_ for Legolas. The horrible, dreadful, toxic mix of emotions that planted fears and night terrors into his troubled mind. The quick rushes of demonic curiosity that he had to screw his entire being against to stifle. This was all clearly ada's fault. The man was both Jekyll and Hyde. Legolas was scared shitless of what was going through his brain. He felt unclean.

He could tell her right now and be absolved of this. She'd wrap her arms around him and swear fire and damnation against ada. He knew without a single fraction of a doubt that she'd be out for Thranduil's blood, spearheading a witch hunt that would span the furthest continents and plumb the deepest oceans. Legolas was her baby, and Thranduil was the specter that haunted his very existence. It was all so simple.

All it would take was a single word, followed by another and then another until Sabariel had the head hunters set loose on the horrible creature that plagued his thoughts so. His heart surged with the hope that he’d know freedom once more.

But then he remembered his father asleep at the kitchen table that night, glasses askew, his face slack in respite, dark circles and lines of care etched into the warm, familiar skin. He remembered the comfort and security he’d always felt in his father's strong arms. He remembered the panic and disgust and self-hatred he'd seen in his father's eyes that fateful night. He remembered the man’s dorky jokes, his stern encouragement, his unwavering dependability, the fierce pride he had only for his son. Thranduil wanted this as much as Legolas did. His guilt redoubled.

“Sorry, nana,” he mumbled, “Just worried about living on my own. I didn't mean anything by it.” She smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder. Ada would have pulled him into a crushing bear hug until Legolas calmed, but this was okay, too.

“You're going to be alright,” she promised.

“Nana, thank you so much for coming over to help, but I'm really tired,” Legolas yawned. “I need a nap.” She silently rose from the sofa.

“Okay, Pegleg,” she said. “I'll let myself out.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I love you to the moon and back.” She stood in the doorway for a long moment, lost in thought, watching her son. Legolas got the distinct feeling that this conversation was far from over. She sighed, and then grabbing her bag, she was gone. 

Legolas flopped down face first on his low, soft bed and had closed his eyes for no more than a few moments before he heard a knocking on his door. Had his mother forgotten something? “It's open!” He yelled, his voice muffled in the black and white duvet.

The door slowly opened, and a tousled, dark head bobbed into view. It was that one guy from Gondor. “Hey, sorry, did I wake you?” The young man asked, coming into full view, leaning against the door frame.

“No,” Legolas said brightly, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Please, come in!” He stood and rushed to the kitchenette. “Can I get you a drink?” The guy shook his head gratefully.

“No, thanks. It's Aragorn, by the way. I don’t know if you remembered,” he said. Legolas considered the guy for a moment and found him friendly enough. “And, uh... Mae govannen.”

Legolas' eyes went wide. “You speak Sindarin?” He asked excitedly. Aragorn rubbed the back of his own neck sheepishly.

“Not really,” he answered. “Just a little. Hello. Goodbye. Where is the library? That sort of thing.”

“Oh, it's my native language,” Legolas gushed. “Only-” He paused as his face fell. “Nana and ada kind of banned it at home about the time I started high school so that my Westron would improve. You know, so I could get into a good university. And all my friends speak Westron now, too, so I never get to use it anymore.” Aragorn nodded, not really sure what to say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Uh, anyway... You wanna come in?”

“Yeah, cool,” Aragorn answered, and he helped himself to a spot on Legolas' small sofa. Legolas sat across from him in a soft puff chair. Aragorn looked around, giving the room a once over. “Your place looks like a magazine.”

“My mother's fault,” he answered, unsure why he was a little embarrassed.

Aragorn twisted around and looked past the potted plants and fairy lights to the photos tacked up on the wall behind him. “These are cool. You take these?”

“Yeah, most of them,” Legolas answered. “Some I cut from my ada’s old copies of National Geographic. I like photography. But I kinda suck at it.”

“Oh.” Aragorn looked around some more. “Cool.”

“You sure I can't get you something to drink?” Legolas offered again.

“No, I'm good,” he answered. “So, other than sucking at photography, what are you into?” Legolas wracked his brain for an answer that wasn't the generic _music and movies_. Before he could answer, the half-open door slammed wide open, and two of the guys from the Shire came tumbling in.

“So, Legolas,” one of them began without preamble. The one called Merry, Legolas thought. “How you liking Kingshall so far?”

“Not really sure yet,” he answered diplomatically. 

“Mhmm, okay,” the other one interrupted. Pippin. “So, listen, we're going to cut to the chase. We've got a favor to ask.” Legolas glanced at Aragorn, who was rolling his eyes. Legolas waited.

“Your dad is the President,” Merry began. Legolas grew concerned.

“And since we're basically your neighbors…” Pippin continued. Aragorn scoffed at that. Pippin ignored him. “Well, we were wondering if you could possibly talk to him about allowing a temporary moratorium on the campus fireworks moratorium.”

“A moratorium on a moratorium?” Legolas asked, an eyebrow risen in disdain.

“Temporary, being the key word,” Merry corrected. “A _temporary_ cessation of said moratorium.”

Legolas considered the odd pair for a moment. “I mean, I can certainly ask him, but-”

Triumphantly, Pippin turned to Merry. “See? I told you he'd be a mensch. Didn’t I tell you he’d be a mensch?”

“You did, at that.”

“Yeah, but he'll want to know why, of course,” Legolas amended. “There’s a reason they had to ban fireworks in the first place.” Merry lifted his hands in self-defense.

“In our defense-”

“Wait, that was _you_?” Legolas practically screeched. “You nearly burned down the astronomy tower!”

“And we’d kindly ask you not to mention that tidbit to anyone in a position of authority,” Pippin beseeched him. “Gandalf gave us a good hiding already for it. I _still_ can’t feel my ears.” Merry and Pippin exchanged meaningful glances for a moment, before hunching over and whispering animatedly to each other.

“Yeah, but can he be trusted?” Legolas overheard at length.

“Dunno yet. He seems a little shifty,” said the shiftier of the two.

“Look,” Legolas interrupted. “If you want me to talk to Professor Oropherion about the moratorium moratorium, then I'll need to know why you're requesting this, uh, temporary cessation.” The two exchanged a few more pointed, exaggerated glances before Pippin leaned forward.

“Ah, we'll get back to you on that,” he finally said.

“Anyway, you wanna buy some weed?” Merry asked. Legolas' brow lifted. The two were engaged in a staring battle for a moment.

“Actually, yeah,” Legolas answered jovially. “Is this the greenery you were boasting about?”

“Aren’t you the clever chap?” Merry answered, and as he and Legolas negotiated a deal, Aragorn caught Pippin's attention.

“Hey, didn't Gimli say he'd hang out today? Or wait, study hall, right?” He asked the shorter boy. Pippin's eyes grew wide as he gestured unsubtly to Legolas.

“Ixnay on the imligay,” he whispered. This caught Legolas' attention.

“Wait, what?” He asked. “Why ixnay on the imligay, and why gesture at me?” Pippin grew very serious, and he moved to stand next to Legolas, patting him on the back.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Pippin said, “but that guy fucking hates you.” Legolas scoffed.

“He couldn't possibly hate me more than I hate him,” he declared proudly. All three of the other guys looked at each other meaningfully. “What?” Legolas demanded.

“Oh, come on, Legolas,” Aragorn said.

“He has no reason to hate me,” Legolas insisted.

“You don’t know, do you?” Aragorn asked incredulously.

“Know what?” Legolas was growing irritated.

Aragorn rubbed his face as he searched for the proper words. “Well, when Gimli first started here, there was a bit of a misunderstanding involving his father and some unfortunate cultural differences, which... Well, your father kind of... imprisoned... Gimli's dad.”

“What?” Legolas demanded.

“Only for a couple of hours,” Pippin insisted, raising his hands up in front of him, “And technically, it was more the campus police than anything your father did.”

“But Mr. Gloin believes your father took his time in coming to sort out the misunderstanding,” Aragorn continued. “And he also technically hasn’t apologized yet, and well... Bother your people are kind of famous for how long you can hold a grudge.”

“Still,” Legolas said pathetically. “It doesn't give that hipster douche a free pass to be an asshole. I didn’t do a thing to him.”

“ _Asshole?_ ” Aragorn asked, clearly surprised to hear such a slur against his friend's character. “ _Gimli_? Like, Gimli son of Gloin. That Gimli?”

“Gimli's an angel,” Merry swore. “One of the nicest guys I've ever known.” Legolas wanted to protest. He was angry at what they were saying, which was clearly nothing but blatant lies.

“He once literally gave me the shirt off his back,” Pippin swore, face open in total honesty. “I still have it, too. He's seen me wearing it. Like, at least a dozen times. Hasn’t asked for it back yet.”

Legolas scowled. “Am I being pranked?”

“Nah, man. Gimli's a sweetheart wrapped up in a dream,” Merry promised. Legolas thought he was going to be sick. Merry was certainly disturbed.

“Yeah, whatever, guys,” Legolas groused. He glanced at the clock hanging on his wall. It read 3:47. He realized with a jolt that his study session with the current topic of conversation was meant to start in thirteen minutes, all the way on the other side of campus. “Shit! I've gotta run! I have a study session at four.”

The others quickly headed out the door. As Legolas was gathering up his books and backpack, Merry called out, “We'll be in touch RE: the subject of the moratorium moratorium.”

“I'm sure you will.”

 

“You're exactly seven minutes and twenty seconds late.”

The sentiment hung in the air with a very pointed sneer of disapproval as Legolas heaved himself into Room 208. He glowered down at the bearded boy in front of him, sitting in his customary red plaid shirt with his arms angrily crossed in front of his chest. “Well,” Legolas began loftily, “I hope you made good use of the wait. I told you I might be busy.”

He could tell Gimli was trying to bite his tongue. He bit out slowly, carefully, “I'd appreciate in future if you honored our appointments.”

“I honestly don't care what you'd appreciate,” Legolas sneered.

“Well,” Gimli said resolutely. “That makes two of us, then. Now, let's get down to business. I'd like to be done with this chore as soon as possible.”

“Well, I guess _that_ makes two of us,” Legolas echoed. Gimli passed him a printed sheet of A4 paper.

“I took the liberty of preparing a syllabus for each of us to follow so that we may accomplish the most work with the least communication,” he said briskly, a professional clip to his tone. “There are individual due dates on each task so that we don't fall behind. The midterm is in three weeks, so I feel confident that this won't be a problem.” He paused and looked up at Legolas. “Unless, of course, I've seriously overestimated your abilities.”

Legolas finished scanning the task list. “I don't know that would even be possible, as it seems I'm chiefly responsible for collecting _pond scum_ samples.” Gimli sighed in frustration.

“That's arguably the most important part of this project,” he declared. “I'd appreciate it if you'd take it seriously. Wait, I remember. You don't care what I’d appreciate.” He snapped his pen against the table top. “Well, then. Suffice it to say that our collective grade will appreciate that you take this seriously.”

“And you don't trust me to diagram _any_ of the bacterium we find in the samples?” Legolas demanded.

Gimli sheepishly looked down at the sheet before him. “I happen to have a particular fondness and knack for illustration, and I figured it would be in my wheelhouse to make the best diagrams.” He paused for a moment before grudgingly making the concession, “Though if you wish, you may identify and label the diagrams.”

Legolas leaned back in the stiff chair. “What, and you plan on writing the report, too?"

“If you want to do it,” he answered dismissively, “by all means, help yourself.”

“So, what's the super secret meeting that Gandalf held the other day?” Legolas inquired abruptly. Gimli's eyes grew wide for a moment, though to his credit, he tamped down on it immediately.

“If you weren't invited, I fail to see how it's any of your business,” he answered snippily. “Now, do you have any other complaints?”

Legolas glowered at him for a few moments, unsatisfied with the answer, but knowing fully well that the truth couldn't be pried from the stubborn Dwarf. “When will we have a progress meeting?”

“We'll need to meet to exchange the samples and complete the diagrams,” he answered tersely. “Wednesday is good for me.” Legolas nodded his acquiescence. “6:00 pm, here?”

“Here?” Legolas scoffed. “We live next door now.”

“I have no intention of inviting you into my living space,” Gimli informed him, “nor do I have any desire to go into yours.” Legolas bristled.

“Very well, then,” he bit out.

“And while we're on the subject of the proximity of our living spaces,” Gimli continued, “I do wish you'd keep it down when you're pleasuring your boyfriend. The walls aren't exactly thick.”

Legolas flushed beet red. “Oh. I didn’t realize.” He gathered his materials and his backpack. Begrudgingly, Legolas churned out a reluctant, “Sorry,” before he cut a hasty retreat, all the while cursing that uptight, arrogant, asshole Dwarf.

 

Meludir> How was your study session, babe?  
Me> As good as could be hoped for  
Me> Although, apparently, we need to soundproof the dorm.  
Meludir> omg no ;D  
Me> BTW, if it’s cool with you, I'm gonna Insta one of those selfies. We're so hot  
Meludir> Is that the best idea?  
Me> You can’t see anything in the picture. It’s just our hands.  
Meludir> That’s cool, just don't tag me. It’s still a little racy. My mother would kill me.  
Me> haha k

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for Legolas' dorm can be seen [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZV3NoS21CU2ViOEU) and [here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZMFVoQnBJUkdSV1U).
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Mother Stands For Comfort](https://youtu.be/xRnT9_eSVYM)" by Kate Bush.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the really sweet, encouraging feedback. I'm currently working on a total rewrite of the final five chapters, but there shouldn't be any interruption in the normal posting schedule.
> 
> Let's be tumblr friends! You can follow me [here](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com)!
> 
> And heck, while I'm at it, I may as well link you the boys' slightly [NSFW selfie](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZRFo3ZEJLOVgwY2s).


	13. Chapter 13

Me>Yo Tau  
Tauriel>Legoland!  
Me>Fancy a little Taco Tuesday tonight?  
Tauriel>You know I’d love to  
Tauriel>But Kili's brother is in town and we're doing stuff with him  
Tauriel>Next time?  
Tauriel>How did your study session with your arch nemesis go yesterday?  
Me>Oh, you remembered.  
Tauriel>OK honestly, cut the attitude  
Me>Have a great night tonight. Really.

Legolas muttered curses aimed at Dwarves under his breath and tossed over onto his side on the low bed, snuggling into the sheets and his growing discontent. Abandoning the conversation with Tauriel, he flicked through the pictures of Melu and him from the other day. He drew a deep breath and bit his lower lip. They really did make quite the pretty picture together. The picture he’d posted on Insta already had 146 likes.

Flicking through their pictures together, he realized that coming out had already been super liberating. He despaired at the memory of what it had taken to finally leave the closet. He idly scratched at his hip as he forced his thoughts to something more pleasant. He'd kill to have his beautiful boyfriend in bed with him right now. He cursed, not for the first time, the boy's dedication to his job at the range. If he'd had his own way, he'd just make Meludir move in with him and never let him leave their bed.

He shifted on the bed again, deciding to procrastinate on his stack of homework and revisions for the time being. He got up and slipped his shoes on, making his way down the hall to Aragorn and Boromir's room. He knocked twice, and after a moment, the door opened and Boromir's tired, half-caffeine-crazed face appeared.

“He's in study group right now. We're all studying. You should be studying, too,” Boromir informed him unceremoniously. “I'll let him know you dropped by.” The door closed again in Legolas' face. He sighed and returned to his room. 

A dark weight sank in his stomach as he closed himself inside his dorm room again. He scanned the room for his abandoned laptop, and grabbing it, he dropped onto the sofa and pulled open FaceTime. His stomach gave a happy leap when he saw that his ada was online. He clicked the icon to make a call. The bubbly ringtone lifted his mood, and when his father finally answered, sitting at his home office desk, all smiles and tousled hair piled on top of his head, Legolas felt better than he had all day.

“Ada,” he said in a rush.

“Legolas,” was the warm reply.

“I'm not interrupting you, am I?” Legolas asked. Thranduil gave an indulgent sigh sort-of-laugh. Legolas saw that he was wearing his favorite dark blue button up. He wondered if the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, as Thranduil usually wore his sleeves when busy at his desk.

“I've just finished what I was working on,” he answered. “I honestly wasn’t expecting a call from you. Is everything okay?” His smile wavered. 

“Yeah,” Legolas said quickly. He thought for a moment. “No.” Thranduil's face grew grave.

“Is this about... the other night?” He asked softly. “The thing you have to understand is that I didn’t realize you were standing there.” Legolas' eyes grew wide and he flushed as he suddenly remembered why he'd been so reticent to speak to his father for the last couple of days.

“Oh!” He said. “No, I forgot about that.” Thranduil visibly chastised himself.

“Sorry for bringing it up, then.”

“I didn't mean to see,” Legolas swore seriously. His face was open and sincere, but for a quick moment, Thranduil only remembered the expression that had been on his boy’s face that night.

“Of course you didn’t,” Thranduil said sternly. “An embarrassing mistake.”

“We seem to be making a lot of those lately,” Legolas noted softly, eyes downcast. Thranduil sighed heavily. He chewed his lip and glared hard at something out of frame.

“I miss you,” the man said finally. He said it so quietly, Legolas almost wasn’t certain he’d actually heard correctly. Legolas stared hard at the screen in front of him, and his father's melancholy and nostalgia and darkness seeped through, straight to his aching heart. Legolas wanted to joke that he'd only been gone for two days, but he knew better than that. He knew what his father meant.

“I'll be okay, ada.”

“I don't doubt that for a second.” He looked at his son for a long while, and Legolas looked back at him. “You're growing up so fast.”

“Ada, stop,” Legolas pleaded.

“Now, understand me,” he continued, eyebrow arching, stifling a little grin. “You're still a spoiled, myopic little brat, but…” _I love you. I'm proud of you. You're going to be so great. Come back to me._ “But I suppose that's my fault. Your mother always tells me that you're my little carbon copy.”

Legolas nodded, a building pressure in his chest rising up, until he felt stinging behind his eyes. “I just wish…” He couldn't continue, couldn't bring himself to complete the thought. He didn't have the strength.

“You just wish what, ion nin?” Thranduil asked softly. Legolas looked up at the image on his screen as a heavy tear slid down one stained cheek.

“Remember when I was really little, and we'd lay on the hammock in the greenhouse after dinner, and you'd tell me stories?” His voice was thick, choked with damp, unshed tears. Thranduil's forehead wrinkled and his lips pursed. He raised one hand to his heart. Legolas absently noted the rolled up sleeve baring a slender wrist.

“I remember it fondly,” he said, really more of a whisper, because he didn't trust the strength of his own voice.

“Things are so fucked up, ada,” Legolas growled, slinking back onto the couch. “I feel like I need a vacation from life.” He jolted back up when he heard his mother's voice coming from his laptop.

“Is that Legolas?” She asked cheerfully, waving vigorously as she came into frame. She draped her arm across Thranduil's shoulder and slunk down in order to fit in the frame, her face next to her husband’s. They looked so perfect and right together, Legolas thought with a pang. “Thought I heard your voice, Pegleg.”

“Nana,” Legolas tried to say cheerfully, though his puffy eyes and choked voice were a dead giveaway to his current state of emotional fragility.

“Everything okay, my love?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“He's just being nostalgic,” Thranduil answered gently, pressing a sweet kiss to her temple. Legolas was grateful for the help.

“Homesick already?” She asked, this time with an understanding light in her brown eyes. He shook his head, wiping meanly at his eyes with his hoodie sleeve.

“No, just... I dunno.”

She watched him for a moment, lost in thought. “Well, come see us when you have a chance, okay? It’s too quiet around here.”

“Okay,” he promised miserably.

“Well, we'll let you go now, if you’d like,” Thranduil prompted. Legolas nodded silently.

“Love you, my beautiful boy!” Sabariel sang. “Bye!” Thranduil fidgeted for a moment with the mouse before he clicked on something (Legolas wasn’t sure) and then pulled back to gaze up at Sabariel.

“Where are you going?” He asked in a sharply suspicious tone that Legolas seldom heard him use with his mother.

“There's a problem at the museum,” she answered, and though he could no longer see his mother in the frame, he knew her face had fallen into a sour grimace.

“At this hour?” He demanded. She was glaring at him, Legolas could tell. He quickly began to realize that Thranduil must have clicked the wrong icon or something, and he'd accidentally left the FaceTime call still running in the background without realizing it.

“Don't,” she said, tired. “Just don't.” 

Then, Legolas heard the fading click of her heels against the hard floor, and Thranduil eventually returned his attention to the computer, face slack in concentration. He sighed. Legolas made a silly face, waiting for his ada to notice the still live window and realize his little mistake. He just knew they would laugh so hard, and Elbereth knew they both needed a good laugh.

But Thranduil didn't seem aware that he was still live. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before sinking his face into his waiting hands and sighing deeply again. Legolas began to feel a twinge of doubt, and he spoke up. “Ada, I'm still here.” No response. “Ada.”

The man clearly couldn't hear his son. He slipped his glasses back in place and resumed his work on the computer. It was probably the right thing to hang up the call and talk later, but Legolas watched him for a while, taking in the slack exhaustion of the man's face, a bone deep tiredness that he seldom showed the rest of the world. Legolas knew it well. His heart surged as a tendril of hair slipped from the knot on top of Thranduil's head and swung down from the crown, brushing his high cheekbone. Thranduil tucked it behind his ear and returned to typing.

Legolas lost track of time, watching his father like this, observing the nearly imperceptible changes in his face as he read Eru-knew-what. News of war in countries far away? Octuplets born to a local farmer's wife? The latest scandalous gaffe from a socially unscrupulous politician?

Thranduil slowly shifted in his seat, fumbling with something that Legolas couldn't seeu in the frame. He leaned back in his chair, and all of a sudden, with a churning stomach and burning clarity, Legolas realized the meaning of the now steady rising and falling of the man's right arm.

He understood intimately the sudden exhale of breath through Thranduil's thin nose, the biting of the lip, the flicker of eyelashes against flushing cheekbones. Heat tore through Legolas at the fevered sound of his father biting back a trembling moan. Legolas tamped down on the frantic desire to end the call. This was a private moment in which no son should ever witness his father. Legolas' grip on the sofa left his knuckles white, as a contrarian rush of mean, malicious victory flooded through him.

He ground his teeth as he watched the man, furious that his father dare do such a despicable thing when he didn't deserve any pleasure, not after what he had done to his own son. He felt greedy for the powerful rush it gave him to know that he was finally getting some kind of reparation for what Thranduil took from him those weeks ago in the public bathroom, and not by accident, and not at his mother’s expense. He was overwhelmed by the sick hunger he felt, the knowledge that retribution was his.

Oh, how deeply he needed this.

If a rush of lust spiked his veins at the rasp of his father's moans, he ignored it. No, this wasn't about anything like that. This wasn't about Legolas' sweating palms or blown out pupils, nor was it about his tingling skin or any other part of his anatomy he dared not think about. This was about payback. When Thranduil finally realized his mistake, Legolas would laugh in his face. He'd... He'd do something. He'd figure it out later.

He dug his nails into the sofa, and when Thranduil groaned long and low, Legolas grew lightheaded and shaky. He threw back his head against the sofa and screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the buzz and thrum of his own body, trying to imagine buckets of cold water running down his flesh, but his mind only supplied the sensation of warm, grasping fingers. 

All this, to no avail, especially when he heard his name gasped in throaty shock. He jolted upright to see the open expression of surprise and anger on his father's face. “You were watching me?” The man was breathless, and his eyes were wild.

Legolas' heart beat frantically in his chest, and now he was absolutely sure he was going to pass out. All his justifications of payback and reparation crumbled to dust before him. “Ada-”

“You _were_ watching me,” Thranduil growled, as anger overcame shock. “You voyeuristic little pervert.” His lip curled in fury. “Did you get off on watching your own father touching himself?”

“No! Ada,” Legolas gasped. “You don't understand! It isn't what it looks like.”

“I should hope so,” he hissed, “because what it looks like is pretty damn upsetting.” He slammed his hands down on the top of the desk. “Explain yourself!”

“I-” Legolas started, but a wave of panic burst past the dam, and in a frantic flurry, he ended the call, chest still heaving from the humiliating excitement that still pounded through him. When he received a call notification from his father, he closed FaceTime and turned off his laptop and his phone.

He went to the dresser and changed out of his sticky jeans and underwear before he slipped into bed and fought against himself to keep his mind blank, before he finally fell into troubled sleep.

 

Only a few hours later, Thranduil still sat at his desk, head in hands, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Fact: Legolas had been watching him masturbate. A small voice in the back of his mind confirmed his suspicions about the other night when Legolas had walked in on Sabariel and him. The boy had been watching, and he had been affected. Cold nausea numbed Thranduil.

He sighed. What could Legolas have possibly meant when he said it wasn't what it looked like? How could it have been anything else? Thranduil recalled the rise and fall of Legolas' chest, the way his hair had fanned out on the sofa behind him, the depth of his dilated eyes when he realized he'd been caught. The little pervert. Heat crept up Thranduil's spine.

Guiltily, his gaze fell onto his computer screen, where he could still the see the picture that had started this whole stupid mess. He wasn't going to think about it right now. He closed and leaned back heavily in the red vinyl chair. He needed some fresh air and a couple bottles of wine. He needed Legolas, if only so that he could understand what was going through the boy's head, because he sure as hell couldn't understand what was going through his own. He had to believe his son when he said that it wasn't what it looked like.

Because if it _was_ what it looked like...

He shook his head resolutely. He didn’t have the strength to fight this battle for the both of them. He pulled his long hair out of its messy bun. Scooping up all the loose tendrils, he finger combed and twisted the length of it back into place on top of his head and secured it again with the hair tie. He rose from his chair, padded on bare feet across the small office, and slid open the latch on the glass door which led out into the side garden.

The night air was unseasonably warm. He stared up at the billions of stars above him, so bright, so clear, and inhaled deeply of the damp, sweet air. A current of ease came over him, though nothing was strong enough to tamp the anticipation and dread that had been building in his belly for two weeks. He heard the crunch of gravel all the way from the front of the house which signaled Sabariel's return. He remained standing in the garden for quite some time, grateful that their nearest neighbor was many stone's throws away, hidden by the thicket of trees that surrounded his land.

His peace was broken when his wife's voice filtered through the still-open office door. “Thranduil,” she said, voice tense and unkind. He bowed his head. So, they were going to fight tonight. “Come in here.” He sighed and turned towards the office. She was standing over his computer, her face white but for a few red blotches high on her cheekbones.

“Why are you on my computer?” He demanded gently, refusing to raise his voice even as anger began to boil inside him. She looked up at him, so tall, leaning against the doorway. She couldn't remember the last time she felt genuinely happy to see him.

“Please, tell me,” she began slowly, her voice shaking nearly as much as her hands. “Please, tell me you aren't fantasizing after your own son's boyfriend.” His heart pounded, even as the blood left his face. The picture. “Tell me I'm crazy.”

Involuntarily, he made several steps into the room. “You're crazy,” he rasped. Her face fell, and her shoulders bowed.

“If I'm crazy, then why…” She took a deep breath and turned his computer towards him. “It’s Meludir and Legolas, isn’t it?” His heart plummeted when she gestured at the browser window set to Legolas’ instagram. He cast his eyes away from the picture of joined hands against naked thighs, from the tantalizing promise of something far more wrong just outside the picture’s frame. He thought he could hear a gavel coming down over his skull with a crack. “Why this picture, Thranduil? Why do I find _this_ picture on your computer in _fucking_ full screen?”

“Sabariel-” Before he could finish, she collapsed into his chair.

“Are you fucking him, Thranduil?” She asked, voice stripped of emotion now. Tired. Desolate. She looked up at him. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you aren't fucking Meludir.”

“Sabariel, you are completely off base!” He insisted.

“I saw the way he was looking at you!” She shrieked suddenly, jumping to her feet. “And _you_! Practically tearing him apart with your eyes. Right in front of me! How could you have so little shame? So little respect for your own wife?" She didn’t wait for him to respond. “And Legolas is half sick with it! He won’t admit it, maybe not even to himself, but you should have fucking seen him yesterday, Thranduil! He’s miserable.”

“Sabariel, this is beyond absurd,” Thranduil growled finally, looming over her now. She checked her anger and collapsed back into the chair. “I was simply looking through Legolas' Instagram to make sure he's not doing anything stupid now that he’s on his own. I'm just worried about him. And clearly, I was right to be worried. He shouldn’t be posting pictures like this.” 

“Don’t change the subject.”

He slammed his fist down on the hard glass desktop. “I can't be blamed for Meludir’s pathetic little crush. And whatever you thought you saw on my part... Well, I can assure you, my love, you were mistaken.”

“Am I a stupid bitch, Thranduil?” She asked quietly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Am I a stupid bitch?” She hissed, ice cold fury in her very bones. “You must think so if you think for one second that I can’t see that something is happening under my own roof, _my love_.” The venom that dripped from her voice could have melted the glass desktop Thranduil was currently clinging to for dear life. “You’ve humiliated me.”

“Sab-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” She screamed, and now tears were pouring down her face. “You're so full of shit, Thranduil.”

“ _I’m_ full of shit?”

“Nearly a year, Thranduil,” she said softly. “You haven’t fucked me for nearly a year. I'm gone for a week, and then all of a sudden, you can't get enough. The night Meludir was over, I thought you'd turned into a werewolf.”

“You can't seriously think-”

“I've been seeing Dr. Bombadil in private,” she whispered. Thranduil blanched, and he slumped down on the leather chair across from his wife. The room fell silent.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” She spat bitterly. “He recommended it, because he thought that you weren't cooperating,” she answered. “That you're just saying what you think needs to be said, but that you don't mean any of it. Perhaps foolishly, I had been giving you the benefit of the doubt.” Thranduil remained quiet, not meeting her eyes. “Thranduil. I just need you to tell me that you haven't fucked him and that you're not going to. And I want you to actually mean it.”

“Sabariel, this jealousy-”

“Ha!” She laughed, but her voice was merely a paroxysm of grief. “If I were a jealous woman, I would never have agreed to marry you. Do you think I'm blind to the glances you receive everywhere we go? Do you think I don't see how you absolutely languish in the attention of others?” He began to protest. “Don’t you dare deny it. Our dinner parties are practically a catwalk for you.” She took a deep breath. “I knew when we started seeing each other that your bisexuality was just another part of who you were. I accepted it, because you _swore_ to me that you could be happy with just one person. You _swore_ , Thranduil.”

“And I am,” he said weakly. “Whatever this is, it has fuck all to do with my sexual orientation.” She shook her head gently as another tear slid down her cheek.

“Then why won't you tell me plainly that you're not cheating on me?”

Thranduil stood. He leaned over the desk and drew his wife's shaking hands into his own. He looked deeply into her red eyes, feeling every inch a horrible charlatan, as he mustered every fiber of his being to say to her with conviction, “Sabariel, you're the only one. You always have been. You always will be. And I'm sorry if I don't say it often enough.”

Her dark brown eyes forged deep into his very soul as she weighed the truth of his words. Once she reached her conclusion, she sighed a defeated lamentation and slipped her hands from his. She turned slowly and made for the door. “I'm going to bed,” she said, then she was gone.

He lay awake on the living room sofa until well after the sun had risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[I'm on Fire"](https://youtu.be/dl-CcC7xRAw)" by Sebadoh.
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful, kind words. You guys are so sweet to me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I'm a couple of days late. I've been pretty sick. I'm better now. Commence with the gross elf porn.
> 
> [This](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZNjJVRGJra2RsRVk) is the lecture hall where Thranduil teaches his class.

Thranduil was in a sour mood. Even from three rows back on his hard, wooden pew, Legolas could see the vein jumping in the man’s forehead. Even if he'd been further back in the cavernous, vaulted auditorium, he'd have still been able to hear the tightness in the man's voice as he answered the same stupid question over and over. Advanced Quenya Composition couldn't have been easy to teach on the best of days, but the man was also balancing the mess at home, stupid things like the recent Orc raid, the day to day headache of running the university… Legolas stewed in worry in his seat, hoping not to attract his father's wrath or even merely his attention. He glanced down at the front of the class, off to the side, where Tauriel was keeping minutes or whatever her TA duties were. Legolas had never really thought to ask.

He almost hadn’t come. He had lain in bed that morning, struggling with the apprehension and humiliation of the previous night. What would the man do if Legolas didn’t show up? He was sure to notice, and he was sure to be even angrier than he already was. Legolas knew he had well and truly fucked up, and he had finally decided it was better to face the music, to get it over with, than to wait for Thranduil to hunt him down and murder him for truancy on top of everything else.

As the class drew to an end after an hour and a half of agony, Legolas tried to slink out of the class undetected, but his father's stern voice rose above the din of the auditorium, and the boy flinched. “Legolas, please stay behind. I need to speak with you.” 

Nearly frozen with panic, Legolas stilled his breathing and turned back around, walking against the tide of exiting students to join his father at the podium. When his father looked at him, he radiated an impersonal, detached, deliberate aloofness. The weight of what Legolas had been caught doing yesterday bore down hard on the boy. Tauriel gave him a sympathetic glance as she, too, exited with the students. “Yes?” Legolas asked tersely.

Thranduil waited for the final student to exit and the great door to swing shut before he rounded on Legolas with a furious sneer. “Would you kindly explain just what the hell has come over you?”

“Ada-”

“Do you think that you live in a bubble and that your actions don't reflect on your family anymore?”

“Ada, wh-”

Thranduil sighed impatiently and jerked his laptop off the table, opening it and clicking a few times before he held the computer up to Legolas' stricken face. “What possessed you to post such a private picture on such a public forum?” He demanded, white teeth bared in a furious grimace. “It's one thing to be openly gay, which I applaud you for, but it's a completely different thing to post this sort of picture for the entire world to see.”

Legolas felt almost relieved, though he burned to think his father had been going through his Instagram. “I edited it. You could see everything in the original,” he began, but the more he thought about it, the more the spark of anger began to grow. “Why were you looking at my Insta in the first place?” He demanded. Thranduil started. “Eru, are you checking up me?”

“Well,” Thranduil began, “why shouldn't I, when you clearly aren't capable of making responsible decisions yet? Someone needs to hold you accountable for your behavior, and if you’re not equal to that task-” He snapped the laptop shut a little too forcefully, and with a cringe, he slipped it back onto the podium. “You’ll take the picture down immediately. I spank your little arse for doing something so stupid.” He began to speak again, but the burst of fire in Legolas' eyes chilled him instantly.

“Are you sure this isn't about something else?” Legolas asked, though his internal voice was screaming at him to stop, not to cross that boundary, to let sleeping dragons lie. He watched his father's face become a passive mask again, which made him want to punch the man right in his mouth. His nails bit into the skin of his palms.

“If you're talking about last night…” Thranduil began. “I refuse to acknowledge your lapse of sanity. You need more rest. And you need to stop drinking so much.” Legolas nearly collapsed into crazed laughter at the sheer richness of his father, _this fucking man_ , telling him to drink less and sleep more.

“I wasn't drinking, ada,” Legolas whispered with a cruel smile. Thranduil swallowed hard and drew himself up to his full height. “I was out for revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Against you,” he practically sobbed. “For ruining everything.” Thranduil cast his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“And how was watching me jack off going to help you accomplish that?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

“You took something from me,” Legolas mumbled pathetically. “I wanted to take something from you.” Thranduil grabbed Legolas by the chin and forced him to meet his blazing eyes.

“I only took what you gave me,” he said low, deadly. Chills cascaded down Legolas’ tense body, from where his father’s hot fingers grasped him, all the way down his sides. Thranduil leaned down, and for a frantic second, Legolas thought his father was going to kiss him, but Thranduil pressed his lips against Legolas’ ear instead and, drawing shivers anew down Legolas’ lean frame, he whispered, “And you loved every second of it.”

Legolas jerked away from his father’s grasp as though burned. His face was drawn and pale as he insisted weakly, “I did _not_.”

“Is that so?” He growled. “The come stains on my jacket would suggest otherwise.” Legolas was shaking, though he didn't know specifically why. Frankly, it could have been any number of spectacularly shitty things. It could be how he was barely holding onto what little sanity he had left. It could be that his father was ignoring his cries for help. It could be that he really should just say what he wanted to say, though when he wracked his brain to put that into exact words, a heavy wall came whooshing down and stopped that train of thought in its tracks.

Legolas was galled to feel tears beginning to well. Thranduil could see it. Legolas thought he could read the immediate sympathy hidden in the depths of his stony eyes, though Thranduil did nothing to reach out and soothe the pain that was so clearly afflicting his boy. Legolas had had enough of his father's noncommittal placidity. He finally screamed, “Why are you _like_ this, you fucking arsehole?" Legolas wildly grasped at the sleeves of Thranduil's blazer, trying to shake him, trying to sling that blank expression off his stupid face. A roar of anguish tore through his lungs as he clawed at the man’s chest.

“Legolas!” Thranduil shushed him, trying to still the frantic beating of his son's arms. He wondered when Legolas had become so strong. “Ion, we're in public. Someone could hear. Calm yourself.” Legolas finally collapsed against his father's chest. His chest shook with the force it took stifling the urge to sob uncontrollably. He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t cry in front of this man. He became aware of his father's arms slowly wrapping around his shaking body, his hands rubbing soothing circles on the boy’s back, and the sensation nearly brought out the torrent of tears. He sank deeper into his father’s embrace and breathed deeply, trying to cleanse himself of the horrible caul of sadness as he let his father’s warm, crisp scent fill his senses. “My sweet boy,” he whispered, all pain and desperation, “can we please agree to stop punishing each other?”

“I'm sorry, ada,” Legolas murmured against the stiff gray wool. “I don't know what's come over me.” Thranduil shushed him and smoothed his loose hair with a steady palm.

“You're just really stressed,” he answered. “School and family and things like that. It’s going to be okay.” He held his son for a few more moments, languishing in how good it felt to have Legolas in his arms again, so solid and vibrant, needing his ada, clinging to him for comfort and strength. His heart surged, his body thrumming. When holding his boy like this, he could almost pretend that everything was like old times again. He fought the urge to press a tender kiss to the top of Legolas’ blonde head. He struggled to keep himself from burying his hands in his son’s soft hair and losing control of the torrent of tears he was just barely keeping at bay himself. At length, he pulled away, grasping Legolas’ arms and holding him at some distance. “Look at me, ion nin.” Legolas grudgingly dragged his red eyes up to meet his father's. “Do you want to talk to a counselor?” He asked seriously, tamping down on the rising tide of woe. Exhausted, Legolas shook his head with a sigh.

“No, I-” He started, fighting a hiccup. “I just need more sleep, ada. You're right.”

“Come to dinner tonight,” he said. “I know your mother would be happy to see you.” Legolas shook his head again.

“I have a study session with the Dwarf,” he answered, fighting to steady his breathing.

“Legolas, you can come home whenever you want,” Thranduil said finally. “I know you must feel that I kicked you out after what happened, but... I was too hasty. You still have your key. You know, if you need to be somewhere familiar…” Legolas nodded.

“Look, ada,” he said. “I have to go, or I'll be late for class. Professor Feren already hates me, so…”

“He doesn't hate you.”

“Later, ada,” Legolas said sadly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

He had turned to leave when Thranduil reached out and grabbed his hand. He said softly, “I love you. _So_ much.” Legolas didn't turn back, just nodded and squeezed the large hand in his own.

“I know.”

 

“As I live and breathe,” Gimli snarked when Legolas popped into the study room, “you're on time!” His smile was unfriendly.

“If you'll take a look at that _super_ hip pocket watch of yours,” Legolas snarked back, “I think you'll find that I'm early.” Unimpressed, Gimli pulled the antique pocket watch out from his undoubtedly vintage waistcoat and checked the time.

“So you are,” he answered blandly. “But it won't win you any points.”

“No,” Legolas responded nonchalantly, “but these will.” He carefully set a small, plastic box onto the desk in front of Gimli. Gimli arched a brow as he opened the latch. He pulled out individual vials of grungy water and read the labels on each, eyes growing wider and wider as he read each one.

He looked up at Legolas with an open mouth, stunned silent. Legolas folded his arms against his chest and smirked. Finally, Gimli found the wherewithal to speak. “Water from the Celon, the Anduin, the Entwash. I mean, the fucking _Entwash_ , man. I mean, I was just expecting a few local pond scum samples, but this…” He picked up a final vial and read the label, shortly before collapsing against his chair in awe. “How... How did you get a sample of water from the Grey Havens? That's impossible. I don't…”

Legolas finally sat down, plopping his backpack into the chair next to him. He smirked across the table at his bearded group mate. “Safe to say I didn't fuck it up for you, then?” He demanded.

“Seriously,” Gimli urged, leaning over the table. The light in his eyes, while not necessarily friendly, was bright with interest. “How did you get these samples on such short notice?”

“A connection of my father's,” Legolas answered vaguely. “He does a lot of traveling.” Gimli pursed his lips and crossed his arms against his chest, long-suffering glower returning to his face.

“So, that's it, then?” He spat. “You cheated?” Legolas was taken aback.

“Look at the grading rubric, Beardy,” he defended himself. “It says nothing about the method of extraction.” Gimli sighed unpleasantly.

“I’ve read the rubric ten times, Pretty Boy.”

“Dude,” Legolas said, eyes rolling. “You need to learn how to chill the fuck out. I cleared it with Galion. He said it was cool.” Gimli tilted his head to the side, clearly displaying that he was annoyed. “ _What_? You're giving me that look you're so damn fond of.”

“It's just so typical of you Elves,” he answered, palms resting on the table top. “Skirt the rules just enough to stay out of trouble. Use your connections to get ahead of everyone else. Refer to your superiors as though you're equals. Refer to your equals as though they're the dirt beneath your feet. Shit, even the Orcs treat people better than you do.” Legolas jumped to his feet, enraged at his words.

“You and I are _not_ equals, Beardy!” He scoffed. “And you clearly don't understand my culture in the slightest.” Gimli jumped to his feet, too.

“Oh, yeah, Pointy Ears?” He hissed back. “Then tell me! Enlighten me. I'm honestly dying to know.” They stood, leaned over the table, glaring intently at each other, daring the other to even blink. Legolas grimaced as he lost the battle against his own eyelids, and he sat down again with a very sour frown. Gimli slowly followed suit.

“Forget it,” Legolas sighed. “We have work to do.”

“Yeah, I'll forget it,” Gimli grumbled, reaching for his notebook. For a little while, the two sat glaring at their notes, fuming and unseeing. Eventually, Gimli looked up, and grudgingly he said through gritted teeth, “These samples are going to give us an edge. Thank you for your extra work.” Legolas was taken aback for a moment.

“Bless my soul, was that gratitude?” He looked at Gimli, who simply sighed very pointedly. Staring at his cuticles, Legolas finally answered quietly, “You're welcome.” Gimli began to pack his backpack, taking extra care of the sample box. “Where are you going?”

“Not much else we can do tonight,” he answered tersely. “We need to take these to the lab. I made an appointment with the lab supervisor for next week.”

“Wait, why didn't we just meet next week, then?” Legolas demanded. Gimli looked like he wanted to just disappear.

“Well,” he said defensively, a bit too aggressive, a bit too loud, a bit too embarrassed. “I wasn't sure you were going to get it right. I wanted to be sure we had enough time to get the appropriate samples.” He tugged at his beard self-consciously. “My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad,” Legolas spat.

“Anyway,” he paused with a dramatic eyeroll. “Same time next week?” He asked awkwardly. “At the lab, that is.”

“Yeah, alright,” Legolas reluctantly agreed. He shoved his own notebook into his backpack and made to leave behind Gimli. As the shorter boy reached the door, he turned to Legolas and heaved another of his unending string of long-suffering sighs. “What?”

“The guys and I are planning something involving paintball guns,” he began in a reluctant monotone, “and since they inexplicably like you, they wanted to invite you to join us, but they know my feelings about you, so they asked me to invite you, and since I don’t want to be an asshole…” He looked everywhere except for Legolas' eyes.

“Oh, trying something new, are we?”

“Mahal, give me strength,” Gimli growled to himself. “Anyway, they asked me how I felt about it. About inviting you along.”

“And... How do you feel about it?” Legolas ventured with a sarcastic eye roll.

“Well, I'm asking you, aren't I?” Gimli snapped.

“ _Are_ you?" Legolas asked skeptically.

“Look, Pretty Boy, I’m not going to beg.” Gimli grumbled. He finally looked up at Legolas. “So, are you in or what?”

“Yeah, fine,” Legolas quickly replied. “I'm in. What’s the plan?”

“It’s a quest of sorts.”

“A _quest_? What is this? Zelda?”

“It’s in relation to the Orc raid last weekend. I can't tell you anything else, because I'm honestly not sure if we can trust you or your kind,” he answered gravely. “Just be free on Friday afternoon. Also, Merry and Pippin want to know what your father said about the firework situation.”

“The firework...?” Legolas repeated dumbly. “Oh, uh, nothing really. I forgot to ask. The rule of thumb with him, though, is... You know... As long as he doesn't see it, it's okay.” Gimli nodded once sharply, then abruptly turned on his heel and retreated into the library stacks.

 

When Legolas returned to his dorm a little bit later, he jolted upon finding Meludir sitting on his bed, waiting for him. He dropped his bag by the door as he closed it behind him, an indulgent, wicked smile taking over his face.

“Mithrandir let me in,” he offered up as an explanation. “Is that okay?”

“Everyone here just calls him Gandalf,” Legolas said, pulling off his hoodie and leaning down to press a soft kiss against Meludir's lips. “And of course it’s okay.” His heart surged. Meludir smelled so good.

“I'll remember that,” he answered, pulling Legolas down by the shirt until the blonde straddled him gracelessly on the soft bed. Legolas dug his fingers into the smooth hair at the nape of Meludir's neck. Meludir pulled the boy’s shirt off. “I missed you.”

“We saw each other yesterday,” Legolas said, chuckling in a low, sweet voice.

“Still,” Meludir sighed, tracing his lips down the long column of Legolas' pale neck, whispering the ghost of kisses against the skin. It drew a pleased shudder from Legolas' taut body. “We still haven't properly broken in your bed.”

“You still haven't fucked me,” Legolas admonished. Meludir pulled away from him, gazing into his eyes with deep scrutiny, in a way that reminded Legolas too much of his mother.

“I still intend to,” Meludir answered with a smirk. “But you aren't ready.”

“Oh, I promise you, Melu, I am _so_ ready,” Legolas said adamantly. “I've been ready.” Meludir arched an eyebrow, and it revealed the scheming pro behind his sweet and innocent face.

“We'll see,” he said finally. He twisted and shoved Legolas down onto the mattress. “On your back.” Legolas did as he was told, scooting backwards until his head could fall to rest on the pillows. Meludir smiled from the depth of his warm, honest eyes. In his low voice, he said, “Now, put your hands above your head and don't move them.”

A thrill ran from Legolas' pounding heart straight to his half-hard cock. He rested his palms against the wall above his head. “Like this?”

Meludir nodded slowly, not once breaking his eye contact with the blonde. “Now, tell me what you want me to do.” Legolas swallowed hard, his mouth now quite dry. He wanted to say _everything_ , but he doubted that was what Meludir wanted from him.

“Your mouth,” he finally said, voice cracking. A faint _please_ followed, and Legolas' cheeks grew deep red.

“Such pretty manners,” Meludir laughed softly. His hands slowly, steadily slid up the stiff, dark denim on Legolas' thighs, thumbs dragging along the inseam. When he reached the apex of Legolas' long legs, he sank his fingers hard into the firm muscle of his hips and tried to rub some of Legolas' tension away. “Relax. I'm going to take good care of you.”

“I know you will,” Legolas whispered, not trusting his voice at the moment. His tension grew into a knot in his stomach. Meludir reached for the fastening of his jeans and slowly undid the button. He pulled the zipper down teasingly, inch by agonizing inch. Legolas thought he was going to come out of his own skin. Granting Legolas a small mercy, Meludir hooked his fingers into the waistband of the jeans and pulled them down, underwear and all, helping Legolas shimmy from them. He tossed the heavy fabric onto the floor behind him and looked down on Legolas' naked body, his cock a reddened, hard curve against his belly. A comely flush burned from Legolas' cheeks, down his neck, tinging his bare, hairless chest. Meludir situated himself between the boy's parted legs and bit back a moan. “Please, Melu.”

Meludir braced himself against Legolas' hips with warm, open hands. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned down and licked a broad swipe from the base to the very tip of Legolas' dick. Legolas whimpered. Meludir licked again, this time, flicking his tongue back and forth as he dragged the length in a way that made Legolas dig his fists into the pillow beneath his tousled hair. Meludir's head swam at just how hot Legolas' body was, waves of heat radiating from his skin, slicking his brow with anticipation. His t-shirt clung to his sensitized body.

“Melu, _please_ ,” Legolas begged. Meludir finally took pity on the boy and grasped the base of his dick with sure fingers, sliding the hot, firm length past his pursed, silky lips onto the slick, rough warmth of his clever tongue. Legolas moaned, a high and keening sound that nearly toppled Meludir. “Ohhh, fuck,” he sighed. Meludir began to bob his head in shallow thrusts, wringing the base of Legolas' dick with his firm hand. Legolas' eyes screwed shut and his toes curled. “Hnnnnn,” he moaned. Meludir pulled away from him, a wet pop as Legolas' cock slipped from his mouth. A thick cord of saliva connected his mouth to the rigid dick.

“You're taut as a bow,” Meludir rasped, continuing to wring pleasure from Legolas with his hands. The blonde's chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hair now haloing around him on the pillow. He moaned incoherently. Meludir's heart pounded, and he shifted against the exquisite pressure that had grown in his jeans. A small jolt coursed through him. So good. “Legolas, what do you need?”

Legolas thrashed against the pillow, moans rising higher from his chest. “More,” he begged. “Need... More.” Meludir sucked his dusky cock head between plump lips and rapidly swirled his tongue around the dripping crown, and the boy nearly wailed. Legolas' bitter taste filled his senses. So very good.

“You need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” Meludir purred, his lips now dark red and sparkling with saliva and precome. Legolas nodded, eyes still shut tight. “I can take care of you. I can take care of my boy.”

“Yes,” Legolas hissed, the _s_ drawn out into a low growl. “Your baby boy.” His hands were now digging into his own hair, as he battled with the powerful need to pull Meludir's head back down on his cock again. He slung an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Too much sensual input was driving him too closely to insanity.

“Are you my baby, Legolas?” Meludir whispered, sucking up the hard, red cock again, working his tongue on the heavy vein, swirling around the crown again, cheeks hollowing as he wrung a gasp from Legolas.

“Yes, your baby!” He murmured as he writhed.

“And you need your daddy, don't you?” Meludir whispered, dropping his head to suck Legolas' balls into his mouth at once, laving them with the rough width of his magical tongue. Legolas sucked in a sharp breath and then groaned, deep and low. “Do you want Daddy to give you what you need?”

“Please!”

“Okay, Daddy'll give it to you,” Meludir sighed, and pushed Legolas' legs further apart, all the while still fisting the sensitive length of Legolas' dick. He dropped his head down lower, drew in an indulgent breath, and slid his deft tongue around the ring of Legolas' entrance, firm, pushing into the tight hole just a little, in and out as his fist slid up and down the hot cock.

“ _Nae_!” Legolas moaned, tearing at his hair, panting for breath. “ _Man cerig!? An ngell nîn, ada vuin_!” Meludir smirked as he circled the pucker with his thumb, slipping his fingertip gently inside. He flicked his wrist and tugged more firmly at Legolas' weeping dick. He'd only just noticed Legolas' balls tightening against his body when the blonde shouted out, “ _Ai, Elbereth_!” and a spurt of creamy come dribbled down Meludir's slowing fist. He looked down at Legolas, a splayed mess on the bed sheets, hair gone wild around his head, mouth parted as gasps made his chest rise and fall rapidly, eyes still screwed shut in his passion. Legolas lie for a while like that, limbs too heavy and fuzzy to be lifted.

“I imagine your father would slap your wrists if he heard you speaking like that,” Meludir said softly, tracing a line down Legolas' thigh with his fingertips. “In Sindarin, no less.”

“I don't want to talk about my father right now,” Legolas said, rising finally and roughly pulling himself up from the bed. He marched over to the mini fridge in the kitchen.

“Still messed up about what happened with him?”

“Are you-” Legolas pulled a sparkling water from the fridge. “Why don't you just fuck me? You’re still hard. You know you could.”

“You aren't ready yet.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and bent to yank his underwear from the tangle of his jeans. “You keep saying that. I'm telling you in no uncertain terms that I'm ready now.”

“But you've just come," Meludir said sweetly, teasingly. Legolas sighed in poorly contained frustration.

“You know what I mean, Melu.” Legolas drank a deep slug from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “What are you waiting for? When will I be ready? I need it now.” Legolas nearly flinched the second he realized how whiny his voice had become.

It was Meludir's turn to sigh deeply. “Look,” he began, “I think you're just in a hurry to lose something that isn't even real. Like, the whole concept of virginity was made up by a bunch of ancient dudes in robes who wanted to make their daughters ashamed of having sex so that they could be traded for more goats.” Legolas narrowed his eyes.

“What are you _talking_ about? That has nothing to do with our situation. I’m a man in my sexual prime, and I want my gorgeous boyfriend to fuck me senseless. It just seems to me that you’re the one who isn’t ready.”

“Fine, you got me,” Meludir said, throwing up his hands. “Legolas, when we have sex, I want it to be the right moment, okay? For us both. I’ve jumped the gun before with other partners, and I don’t want to fuck it up with you.”

“So, you're a hopeless romantic?” Legolas asked, his ire wilting in the face of Meludir’s sweetness and candor. Meludir's expression twisted with a dark, hungry smile.

“No,” he practically purred. “I'm your Daddy, and I want what's best for you.” A chill trickled like warm honey through Legolas’ body. Meludir crooked a finger at the tall blonde standing over him. “Now, come lay down and kiss me.”

When Legolas lay down with Meludir, everything felt so right: the supple, warm skin beneath his shirt, the rich scent of his hair, the softness of his lips. Everything in Legolas' entire existence was completely and utterly Meludir. Legolas felt a pang as a thought came to him, unbidden:

Meludir was great.

Meludir wasn't his daddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the feedback. You guys have really brightened my week.
> 
> I thought I'd give you guys a change and show you Thranduil's emotional/musical theme for this week, "[Terrible Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfIm8lw4cCM&ab_channel=Pitchfork)" by The National.
> 
> Also, mindeer guessed the pop culture reference from a few chapters ago (a reference to Beyonce's album _Lemonade_ ). As a reward, I wrote her [this piece of filth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8468377). Enjoy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe to say, this has been a pretty fucked up week. I think most of us are feeling pretty crushed right now, and everything is really frightening at the moment. The news of Leonard Cohen's death is what oddly gave me drive to soldier on through all the bullshit. His life was hard and full of pain, and he used that to galvanize himself and be creative. I'd like to thank KimSuHan, I_Kill_Zombies, Devi_The_Wynter_Wytch, Kanigye, Tin_Tin, Davorah13 and (of course) the always amazing HauntedPoem for your kind words and encouragement. 
> 
>  
> 
> That said, let's get back to business to defeat the Huns.
> 
> The cottage in this chapter looks something like [this](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZbG5ubkZZcHZIOEU) and here's the [cottage kitchen]().

He didn’t know why he’d ended up in his driveway. He’d planned to just hit the country roads and drive all afternoon blaring old grunge records on the car stereo until he was in danger of running out of petrol. Nevertheless, at home he found himself, leaning against the jamb of the utility room door, quietly looking in on his father busy at work.

Thranduil was bent over his laptop at the kitchen table, lost in thought as he ticked away at the paper a grad student had, no doubt, turned in three days too late. He stretched and twisted until Legolas could hear his spine pop. The crimson wine seemed to leave a bitter trail on the man’s tongue as he took a languid sip and then rubbed at his tired eyes. The warm orange light of the late afternoon sun cascaded through the glass walls behind the man and backlit him in a fiery glow. Legolas’ heart swelled, drinking in his father like this, absently chewing on the end of his pen before tapping the heavy brass against his damp lower lip. 

At last, the creaking of the jamb beneath Legolas’ feet gave his presence away, and his father’s head snapped up like a wildcat’s as he cast startled eyes upon his son. “Legolas,” he said. “How long have you been standing there?” Legolas looked down at his worn Chucks and shrugged. Suddenly, Thranduil rose and hastily tidied up some of the books and papers that cluttered his makeshift desk. “Well, come in. Don’t just stand there. Have a seat.” He gestured the boy over. “You know, we weren’t expecting you. Nana’s upstairs.”

Legolas sat across from his father and sheepishly apologized. “I guess I should call next time. I mean, you told me I could-”

“No,” Thranduil insisted. “You’re still free to come and go as you please.” He paused, searching for the words to say, only to realize that his heart was pulsing in his stomach. He took a sip of wine. “Can I get you anything? Some wine?” Legolas glanced up at him and then down again to the hands folded in his lap.

“No,” he said, though he’d love to be well on his way to getting tanked. Anything that would make talking to his father easier... “I’m okay.” Thranduil uttered a noncommittal hum.

“So, have you-” He began to ask, but Legolas had also begun to speak and both immediately fell silent. Legolas gestured to the man, but Thranduil insisted, “No, you go. What is it?”

“Nothing, ada. What were you about to say?”

“I, uh…” Thranduil cleared his throat. “Well, I was just going to ask you if you’d thought about what I said yesterday after class. About the counseling.” Legolas took in a deep sigh and didn’t answer for a long time. Thranduil’s fingers itched to reach out and grasp his son’s hand. He felt so helpless. He gave into the urge and leaned over to slide his fingers across Legolas’ warm skin. He held his son’s hand like he had done a thousand times. This felt different. Legolas immediately looked up into his father’s stony, inscrutable eyes.

“Well, I mean,” Legolas whispered, “what would I even _say_? I can hardly get help for my problems if I have to be all _Fight Club_ about what’s causing them.” He took a steadying breath, whispering miserably to himself, “Shit, it’s bad enough Melu knows.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he seized, wide-eyed, regretting the slip. Thranduil’s grip on his trembling fingers grew cruel.

“ _What_?” Thranduil growled, but he caught himself and lowered his voice to a hiss. He had gone quite pale. Legolas would have laughed had he not been suddenly struck with a wave of nausea. “ _Please_ , tell me you haven’t-” Legolas pulled his hand away from the rough grasp and cradled his arms against his chest. He swallowed hard, but his mouth was too dry. “Legolas.” Thranduil’s voice grew thin with panicked pleading. A single, hot tear rolled down Legolas’ red cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so gently that Thranduil had to lean closer to hear him. “I was drunk. I needed someone to tell.” Thranduil clutched his heart like he was about to pass out. He sank back into his chair in a numb daze and stared blankly ahead for a moment. At length, he looked to Legolas with a slack visage.

“So, you told him. And?”

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Thranduil cried, panic stirring in him again. He drew a breath and tried to speak again. “What I mean is… What is he going to do with that information?” Thranduil watched his son’s face desperately as a worrying array of emotions flickered through his eyes, like some obscure art film that left Thranduil’s head reeling. “Well?” He demanded. Legolas looked helpless, unsure, as his mouth fell open, and he gingerly shrugged. “Legolas, what did he say?” He rose and fell upon his son, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “What did he _say_?”

“Ada!” Legolas burst, jumping to his feet and shoving the man’s hands away. They both paused, stock still, listening for the tell-tale sound of high heels tapping down the hallway. Silence. Thranduil didn’t press his luck reaching out for Legolas again. He pressed his trembling palm against the nape of his own neck and flung out the useless thought that he wish his son would stop looking at him with such eyes.

“What did he say, Legolas?” Thranduil asked gently, at a measured pace. Legolas flushed deeply and couldn’t quite meet his father’s eyes.

“I think he…” Legolas swallowed hard. “I think he likes it. The idea of it. Of us together… in that way.” He shivered with unwelcome frisson. Thranduil dropped his son’s hands and took an involuntary step backward, his mouth open in shock.

“I’m your father,” he rasped indignantly, his chest rising in labored breath. 

With head still hanging and cheeks burning, Legolas whispered, “And I’m your son.” He raised his cool blue eyes to his father’s. “But I guess it mustn’t matter.” Heat roared through Thranduil, and he practically fell back into his chair at the dining table.

“Of course it matters,” he snapped, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. “The very idea is morally reprehensible.”

“Well, I don’t control Meludir,” Legolas said weakly, still standing before his father, still looking down on him as the man now trained his view on anything but the young man before him. At length, when the boy hadn’t moved yet, Thranduil glanced in his direction and was immediately arrested by the powerful, unnamable look in his son’s eyes. Neither noticed the approach of heels clicking on polished wooden floor until Sabariel as halfway through the archway.

“Legolas! When did you get here?” Sabariel asked brightly as she entered the kitchen, purse and keys in hand. She froze in her footsteps and cast a shrewd look at their stricken faces. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Thranduil started to speak, but Legolas interrupted.

“Feren still hasn’t found my paper from a few weeks ago. I was checking my midterm grades today, and it’s going to really bring my course grade down. Ada was just saying that it would be unethical to intervene,” he lied, and Thranduil tried not to be impressed with what a terrific little liar his son had become. “Are you leaving?” He asked with a tremor of disappointment, gesturing at her bag and keys. Her eyes darted between her son and her husband almost imperceptibly for a moment.

“Ah, yes,” she answered slowly. “Something came up at the museum again. You know how work is. Shouldn’t take too long.” Thranduil frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. She ignored his pointed glare and turned to Legolas with a bright smile. “We can chat about how you’re liking the dorm when I get back, okay?”

“No, it’s cool,” Legolas said too enthusiastically. “I’ll just come with you. I’ll keep myself busy in the exhibits ‘til you’re done.” She froze for a moment.

“Oh, no,” she reasoned dismissively. “You’ll just be bored. You’ve seen most of that stuff a hundred times.”

“But I can look at those artifacts from Beleriand that you were talking about the other day,” he insisted. “Eru knows I could use some extra credit with Feren. I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure they’ve got that particular exhibit completely set up yet.”

“Come on, Sabariel,” Thranduil piped in almost gleefully and certainly predatorily, a cat cornering an unsuspecting mouse. “I think it’s a lovely idea. Why shouldn’t you bring Legolas along to wherever it is you’re going?” She looked him dead in the eyes, daring him to speak, to make his accusations heard. He didn’t rise to the challenge. At length, she swallowed and nodded rigidly.

“You’re absolutely right, Thranduil,” she said quietly through a tight smile. “Come along, Legolas.” Thranduil watched with the same tight smile as she guided their son towards the garage in a painfully tense silence.

Legolas could feel his father’s eyes burning holes through his back. When he and his mother pulled out of the driveway, he tamped down on a quick rush of relief. She drove with a firm grip on the wheel, her knuckles white. “Nana, you okay?” He tentatively asked. She didn’t answer. Her mouth was in a tight line, no smiles or joy. “Nana, you want me to drive instead? You seem kind of...”

“We’re not going to the museum,” she said tersely. He shifted in his seat, worry lining his brow, but he kept quiet. As they pulled onto the highway, she glanced at him and said softly, apologetically, “Sweetheart, I haven’t been completely honest with you and your father.” Legolas’ heart dropped, and he shifted nervously against his seatbelt. “There’s, uh… Well, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

He couldn’t breathe. He knew what this meant, both for his mother and for their happy little family. All the blood left his face, and his hands grew cold and shaky. His armpits and forehead slicked in a cold sweat. “Oh,” he whispered hoarsely.

They drove for several more miles, Legolas guessed. He wasn’t sure, as time had seemed to slow down, and his stomach filled with dread. This was it. This was the end of Legolas and nana and ada. After all the months of working hard to be happy again, they were now hurtling towards the logical end of it all. His mother hadn’t been happy for a long time. Of _course_ there was going to eventually be someone she would want to introduce to him. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready for today to be that day.

The car pulled into a long, gravel driveway that wound through a narrow tunnel of low-hanging trees and fat honey bees buzzing lazily in little clouds along the path. Finally, Sabariel brought the car to a stop in front of a grand wooden cottage at the end of the trail. Two big hounds came loping down the path, barking like foghorns as they greeted the incoming car. Sabariel pulled the keys from the ignition, gathered her bag and turned to Legolas with a fortifying smile. She asked, “Ready?”

He wanted to shout no, that she should just turn the car around and take them to the fucking museum like she had told Thranduil, that this was all completely wrong, that the two weren’t even _separated_ yet, for Eru’s sake, but he silently unbuckled anyway, and they walked up the cobbled footpath to the grand front porch, the dogs joyfully nosing Sabariel’s hands as they walked, nervous of the new man who walked with her. Before they’d even reached the door, it swung open, revealing a beast of a man, at least 6’7” tall, with arms like holiday hams and broad, strong shoulders. His hair was a wild brown and grey mess on top of his head, but he was sturdy and handsome and a lot older than nana, and Legolas was quite taken aback at how truly impressive the man was. A vicious thought came pounding through him as loud as the thundering of his heart that no one could be as impressive as ada.

“As I live and breathe,” the man nearly sang, his voice low and strong, like a black river. “This handsome young man couldn’t possibly be Legolas!” He clapped Legolas on the shoulder and pulled him into a crushing bear hug. Legolas grunted as his face planted in the guy’s chest. The great man pulled him away and held him at arm’s length. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Legolas,” Sabariel said softly, pressing her palm against her son’s back. “This is Beorn.” Legolas was thoroughly shaken. He looked at his mother, speechless.

“Well, let’s not just stand here in the doorstep,” Beorn laughed. “Come! Come inside!” They followed the man into the old cottage, and Legolas was surprised to see every nook and cranny of the cabin stuffed with bric-o-brac and heaps of kindling bound with twine and stacks of old sewing patterns, magazines, and half-finished crosswords. The little kitchen he led them to was just as pleasantly cluttered, from the bunches of fragrant gathered herbs hanging to dry from the ceiling, to the mismatched furniture, the stacked teacups, the antique cast iron stove (where bubbled a copper pot for tea), to the embroidered tea towel on the window sill above the sink, and the rose patterned dishes waiting on the dining table next to a steaming hot buttermilk pie, clearly fresh from the oven. Legolas cast a glance at the backdoor, which was slightly ajar, revealing an overgrown garden heavy with hardy, late-autumn flowers.

Legolas sat immediately where Beorn gestured. The man sat right next to him and leaned down to meet Legolas’ eyes, his forearms braced against his oak-like knees swathed in well-worn denim. “I gotta say, it’s so great to finally meet you, to finally put a face to all the wonderful things your mother says about you!” Again, he clapped Legolas hard on the shoulder with a jovial bark of laughter.

Sabariel quietly sat down in the chair opposite them. “Beorn,” she said softly. He looked at her, his face suddenly awash in concern. “I haven’t told him anything about… this… arrangement.” He looked back at Legolas with dawning comprehension.

“Oh,” he said slowly. Legolas’ heart was pounding again. His head was spinning. He thought he was going to pass out. Who was this man, and why was his mother looking so goddamned nervous all of a sudden? He didn’t want the answers, though he could already hear a voice in the back of his mind screaming what he didn’t want to hear. Beorn’s smile was reluctant but genuine as he said, “Legolas, you know your mother’s a very special lady.”

Legolas wanted to cover his ears and huddle under the table in the fetal position, safe and guarded from what was about to come. Before Beorn could continue, the backdoor burst wide with the vibrant figure of a cheery woman with an impish nose and bohemian attire. Her wavy, light brown hair had little shocks of grey woven into the thick braid which trailed down her back, and in her wizened hands, she held a basket nearly overflowing with fat, ripe blackberries.

She smiled widely when she saw the guests sitting at the kitchen table. Setting the basket down on the counter, she said, “Oh, Sabariel! You’ve brought Legolas! How lovely!” She reached out and shook Legolas’ stunned hand before leaning down and planting a big, sweet kiss on Beorn’s lips. The man slipped his hand into hers and smiled warmly at her, deep emotion in his eyes.

“Legolas,” Beorn said. “This is my good wife, Alfhild.” Legolas’ eyes grew round, bewilderment impeding his power of speech.

“Your _wife_?” He croaked, glancing indignantly at his mother, shocked that she seemed so calm with the news.

“Of thirty two blissful years,” he said almost rhapsodically. Alfhild smiled warmly before beginning to bustle around the kitchen, busying herself with rinsing the blackberries in the beaten enamel sink. “Now, we were talking about your mother, weren’t we?”

“Legolas, you should be so proud,” Alfhild said. “Your mother is one of the best students Beorn’s ever taught! He’s always gushing about her progress.” Legolas noticed his mother’s small, proud smile as she dismissed the praise with a wave of her hand.

“Pegleg,” she said reluctantly. “I’ve been coming here for several months as a… sort of... extension of the therapy your father and I attend. I had thought to keep it to myself, as it’s… well, the nature of the therapy is quite unlike me.”

“Sab, take him out to the range! Show him around.” Alfhild suggested. “I’ll still be a while preparing refreshments.” Beorn heartily agreed, and Legolas followed mutely, his head swimming with questions. They followed Beorn out the kitchen door, into the garden and down a stone path that led to an odd, long log cabin far out amongst the trees, almost out of sight of the cottage where Beorn and his wife (apparently, quite happily) lived.

“This here’s the range, boy,” Beorn announced, pulling a keyring from his jeans and fumbling to jostle the large, cast iron door lock into submission. “Damned lock.” He pulled the door open and ushered the pair inside as he flipped the light switch just within reach. The interior was long and narrow, divided into four lanes that reached from the entrance all the way down to the end of the building, where he saw paper firing targets clipped up in one of the lanes. It had been shot to bits. His eyes grew wide when he noticed the two racks of various types of guns screwed into the wall near the front door.

“Beorn is one of the best shooting instructors in the old world and the new,” Sabariel said. “I’ve been coming to sort of work through some… issues.” Beorn came up to stand behind Legolas, clapping a hand firmly on his shoulder. She looked up at the broad man and sighed heavily. “He and Alfhild keep me sane.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you here, as long as it’s helping,” he answered. “You’re, uh… you’re like the daughter we never had,” he said laughing, his eyes wrinkling pleasantly. She smiled at that, and it was the first true, relaxed, open smile Legolas had seen on her sad face in a long time. Beorn spun Legolas around and asked suddenly, gesturing to Sabariel, “Anyway, you want to see this crackshot in action, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answered.

“I’ve never seen someone work so hard,” Beorn said, digging around in a stack of posters laying on the desk next to the gun display. “Like, really throw themselves into training. She’s got a ways to go yet, but...” With a triumphant sound, he slipped a poster from the middle of the stack. Sabariel had already begun to choose a handgun from the racks and stood off to the side to load it.

“Got new targets printed up?” She asked.

“Well, you destroyed a good bulk of the last ones,” he said roughly, a smile in his eyes. He held the target aloft for her to see. “Decided to go with some new designs, pursuant to our conversation last week.” Legolas couldn’t see the poster, but his mother suddenly erupted with howling laughter that left her bowed over at the waist. She was practically wheezing, her face growing red, tears streaming down her cheeks. The more she tried to calm herself, the harder the laughter took over her. Beorn had a dopey smile on his face when he swung the poster around to show Legolas. The man on the target had orange, sagging skin, a wig of piss-colored cotton candy, and a mouth like a puckered anus. “Don’t know what those Americans were thinking,” Beorn said. “Fucking _Sauron_ would make a better President than this asshat. Pardon my language.” 

Sabariel slowly caught her breath and calmed down, and she reached for some earwear. Beorn strode over to the entrance of one of the shooting lanes. He pressed a button, and a clip attached to the rail in the ceiling came zooming from the end of the lane towards where the tall bear of a man stood. He reached up and attached the target to the clip and sent it whooshing back to the far end of the room with another press of the button. He gestured for Sabariel to step up to the stall and then handed Legolas some protective earwear.

She took a deep breath, held up the gun with both hands and whispered, “Vaya con Díos, motherfucker.” To Legolas’ absolute shock, she began pulling the trigger and rained a flurry of bullets on the target, which shook and rent like an outhouse in a hurricane. When the clip was empty, she smashed the button with a closed fist, and the target came whooshing back to the group. She placed the gun on the low rack in front of her as Beorn stepped up to admire the target.

The orange assclown was riddled with bullet holes in his eyes and forehead. “Really, Sab?” Beorn asked sardonically. “Didn’t go for the _shithole_?” He gestured to the untouched mouth on the target.

“Let him dig his own grave,” she said lethally as she returned the gun to the rack by the door. She turned to Legolas with triumph in her eyes. She pulled him into a fierce hug, and he melted into her arms. Beorn paused awkwardly for a moment.

“I’ll go help Alfhild with tea,” he said softly before he left through the front door.

Legolas pulled his mother in tighter, never wanting to let go of the comfort and strength this woman embodied. “That was amazing, naneth. I’m a little terrified.” She laughed, and the sound shook through his entire soul. When she pulled away, he grasped her hand and squeezed tightly. “You won’t mention this to… anybody? Will you?”

“Of course not, nana,” he answered. In a flurry of self-pity, he added, “I’m quite good at keeping secrets.” She looked into his eyes. He shrank.

“Are you, now?”

Legolas couldn’t deal with her scrutiny. Not now. He turned to cast an unseeing gaze upon the guns on the wall. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but I thought…”

When he didn’t finish the thought, she stepped beside him. “What did you think, baby?”

“I thought,” he began, and he swallowed hard on a knot in his throat. “I thought that you and Beorn…” Her eyes grew wide.

“Oh, good lord, Legolas,” she said. “I can’t imagine…” She clutched her chest and fought back the laughter that threatened to conquer her again. “Beorn is like my _father_. Don’t be ridiculous!”

A horrid wave of shame crashed on Legolas, and he turned to leave the building. By the time Sabariel reached him, they were standing among the trees. She pulled him down to rest against a large elm trunk. She grasped his hand. Legolas looked into her kind, sad eyes. Again, he felt the desperate urge to tell her everything. He could tell her. It wouldn't take much. She could save him.

“Legolas,” she said, just as he had nearly built the courage to spill the tragic news. “Your father is a deeply flawed person.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But so am I. And so are you. And so is everyone you’ll ever meet.”

“I know.”

“I know you do.” She gazed out among the trees as she gathered her thoughts. “You’ve grown so much this year.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. He was lost. “You must think I’m silly.”

“What?” He rested his head on her shoulder.

“You must think I’m silly,” she repeated. “I know about the campus gossip. That people talk about what your father does. That he thinks he’s invincible.” Legolas would have frozen had she not been feeding him with the warmth he’d needed for weeks now. “It’s not right that you should be dragged into this, but I can’t help but feel that you are aware of who your father is. And what he is, is essentially a good man.”

“Nana-”

“I never intended to marry,” she said. “You know I never knew my mother, of course, rest her soul. But when my father died and cousin Galadriel took me in, I swore I’d never fall in love. It was too painful. And so I worked. I threw myself into my studies and became the youngest female Ph.D. candidate at Eryn Lasgalen ever.” Her proud voice belied a deep self-loathing. Legolas ached to hear it. “I fought and scraped and never asked for help if I could avoid it. I never needed anyone. I never wanted anyone. I didn’t realize then how broken I was. Galadriel and Celeborn were supportive, of course, and Celebrian was like a sister to me in every sense, but… I lived in my own head.” She paused when her voice began to tremor. She collected herself. “I eschewed real life in favor of _certifications_. _Accreditations_. I needed paperwork to show the world that I had worth.” She wiped away a tiny tear drop that had slipped from her eye. “And then I met your idiot father at some terrible fundraiser Galadriel and Celeborn forced me to go to, and he was wearing this ridiculous white suit that he had somehow managed to drench in red wine, and I…” She meant to laugh, but it came out as a choked sob. She took a deep breath, and Legolas wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “He taught me how to love. As flawed as he is, _damn him_ , he was exactly what I needed, even though I didn’t know it then. I loved him immediately and completely, and I don’t regret ever having agreed to be his wife.” She pressed a kiss to Legolas’ temple. “You must know that you are the product of love and healing and salvation.”

“Nana, it isn’t fair.” He was trying his very damnedest not to burst into a torrent of anguished tears.

“Legolas,” she stopped him, patting his knee reassuringly. “It isn’t fair that you have to see this.” She bit back a wave of melancholy. “But I just need you to know that whatever happens next, you have been the best thing that could ever happen in our lives, your ada and I.”

“And what happens next?” He asked, fully not wanting to know. She smiled with heavy eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said with a hopeless shrug of the shoulders. “But whatever happens, it isn’t your fault. Know that.”

Legolas stewed in all the words he’d left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, babies, I know I'm stressing you out. The next two chapters are going to be angst free. I love you.
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Silent Shout](https://youtu.be/4uI1KXHJVO8)" by The Knife.
> 
> You can find me on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) for fic stuff and updates. And if you haven't already, have a look at my badcop!Thranduil and megaslut!Legolas police AU [Boyracer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8468377).
> 
> Thanks for all hope and encouragement you guys offer. Keep on keepin' on.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, make sure that you've read Chapter 15. Originally, Chapter 15 was a note about my short leave of absence, but I've since deleted it and replaced it with a chapter primarily about Legolas and Sabariel. Double check that you've seen it!
> 
> As promised, this chapter and the next one are going to be a break from all the angst and tension. Goodness knows we need it. Hug someone you love today.

Legolas stood in front of Aragorn and Boromir's door, poised to knock, when he heard a dizzying din of voice coming from inside the room. “Yeah, but can he be trusted? We don’t know that he’s not gonna go running off to his daddy to tell on us.”

“What choice do we have?”

“He didn't snitch about the fireworks!”

“That’s because no one told them we already had them. And he didn't exactly get them cleared with management, if you get my meaning.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I mean, it's better that no one knows what we’re planning anyway. Oropherion might have said no, and then where would we be? It’ll be easier to apologize if shit goes south. And if we’d been asking around about fireworks, well, they might be able trace it back to us even if we succeed.”

“I'd like to go on record as saying that I really disapprove of the clandestine nature of this whole mission.”

“Ugh, no one cares about your boring opinion, Boromir.”

“As I've said a thousand times, one does not simply walk into the University of Mordor.”

“We’re not walking. We have a van.”

“You know what I mean, and Gandalf said-”

“We know what he said.”

“Like herding cats,” came a voice from behind Legolas. He jolted, heart plummeting into his stomach as he turned, coming face to face with Gandalf's bushy eyebrows. The aroma of patchouli washed over him. Gandalf shuffled past Legolas, guiding him into the room. “Okay, fellas, grab the stuff and head to Bill,” he said, and the room fell silent as seven expectant faces turned towards Legolas.

“Wait, what's happening?” Legolas demanded, but the group snapped into action, beginning to file out the door with armfuls of conspicuously shaped packages covered in Bob Marley throw blankets. He followed them down the hallway and into the lift. The group was silent and tense, and it gave Legolas an indignant sort of twitch. “Will someone please just tell me what the _hell_ is going on?”

“No time,” Aragorn said sternly, in a manner he'd surely adopted from some action hero or other, Legolas wagered. The elevator dinged and the doors opened, but before the group could exit, Legolas turned and blocked the door.

“Listen. We're not going anywhere until someone tells me what’s happening!” He barked, irritation having finally given over to full blown anger. Gimli simply pushed past him and kept marching. Legolas sputtered with outrage, rounding on the Dwarf. “I don’t know just who you think you are, but-”

As he reached the exit of the grand marble lobby, Gimli impatiently called, “Get in the car, loser. We're going revenging.” The rest of the gang pushed past him like a river flowing around a stone, and he felt he had no choice but to follow them as they walked through the long lines of parked cars. Gimli called, “Where the hell is Bill, Sam?”

“Who's Bill?” Legolas demanded.

“My baby,” Sam answered indulgently, fumbling with the weight in his arms as he patted around for something.

“Your…” Legolas began, but he was cut off by Gimli's triumphant bellow as he stopped in front of a brown SUV. “Here we are!” Sam finally pulled a key fob from his pocket and remote opened the back. 

“My baby,” he repeated, gesturing to the beat up van. The group began to load their dubious packages before all nine of them packed like sardines into the car and buckled up. Sam revved the engine a few times before it eventually turned over, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Okay, now we'll fill you in on the plan,” Gandalf said, and he turned around to speak to Legolas from the front passenger's seat. “We're invading Mordor. We've got to save the world.”

“Save the...?”

“Well, we're taking back our mascot at any rate,” he amended. “And school pride means the world to some people, so, I mean, you know, potato potato.”

“Potato po-tah-to,” Legolas corrected. “You can't just say 'potato' twice.”

“Legolas, no one says it 'po-tah-to,'” Gandalf said earnestly. “Anyway, I've received intelligence from an old friend that the mascot is being kept on the water tower in the center of campus. We've chosen Sam and Frodo to break in through the safety fence that surrounds the tower and do the actual burgling, because they're the quietest and smallest. Which leaves us with the small issue of creating a diversion. We've stocked up on an impressive arsenal of fireworks.”

“Why fireworks?” Legolas asked doubtfully. Gandalf merely looked at him as though he'd grown a second head.

“I can't think of a single occasion that _doesn't_ call for fireworks, to be frightfully honest,” he answered, confounded by the question. “Anyway, two of us are gonna climb up on a building or statue or something on the other side of campus and just start firing off these bad boys all nibbly bibbly-like into the night. That'll be up to Merry and Pippin here. Very strong climbers.”

Legolas jerked around to look at the two sitting in the row of seats behind him. They waved at him with frankly worrying smiles. Legolas quirked an eyebrow. “Do you guys even _go_ to this school?”

“Irrelevant,” Gandalf interrupted. “Now, Aragorn and Boromir here,” he gestured to the two boys currently sandwiching Legolas in the middle row, “will be primary backup, the greatest defense against those filthy, scheming Orcs.”

Legolas looked between them skeptically. “And how are they meant to do that? And why _these_ two?”

“Elbereth, you ask a lot of questions," Gandalf answered gravely. “It’s simple, really. They're the best shots with a paintball gun I've ever seen.”

“What you're describing is assault, Gandalf,” Boromir interrupted.

“Exactly,” Gandalf agreed indulgently, nodding, though his expression was blank, and Legolas got the distinct impression he'd learned to tune Boromir out a long time ago. “Which leaves you and Gimli, Legolas.”

Legolas grew worried as he was suddenly reminded he'd been shanghaied into this harebrained scheme with the _Dwarf_. “I can't imagine what you think he and I could accomplish together.”

“How're you at paintball?” Gandalf asked sincerely, but before Legolas could answer, he said, “I'm sure you'll be fine. Basically, you just point and shoot. Anyway, you and Gimli are going to be secondary defense. You're going to be the muscle on the inside.”

“Muscle on the…”

“Yes, you're going to cover Sam and Frodo like jam on toast. Like beans on toast. Like... Like... Like lemon curd on toast.”

“Wow, you've really got toast on the mind,” Legolas said drily.

“I'm gonna level with you, Legolas,” Gandalf said seriously. “I'm pretty high right now, and I've got hella munchies.” Legolas felt his jaw drop nearly to his knees.

“So, what exactly is _your_ duty on this mission then?” Legolas demanded in an accusatory huff.

“Oh, don't you worry about that!” He announced, giving a single-fingered salute to his brow. “I'm the General, the Commissar, the Toast Master. I've got all your backs. I scoop you out when you're in the shit. I've got it all planned, Legolas. These Orcs aren't gonna know what hit 'em. They won't stand a chance. We’re gonna scramble them and serve them on toast.”

“Again with the breakfast food…”

“We've got walkie talkies,” Aragorn said, taking over from Gandalf as the dazed RA began to rummage his tote for spare snacks. “Mordor has terrible cell coverage, so we have to go old school.” Aragorn signaled to Gimli to reach into the back of the SUV for the sack of walkie talkies. He began distributing them to each of the inhabitants of the car; one for Frodo and Sam, one for Merry and Pippin, one for Aragorn and Boromir, one for Gimli and Legolas, one for Gandalf. “We'll maintain communication with these, so don’t get separated, and whatever you do, reserve use only for the utmost of important messages, as we don't want to give our location away to the enemy.”

Legolas' head was swimming as he was still trying to process what the deranged RA had told him. They were surely going to get caught, and if they got caught, they'd surely be expelled. Legolas couldn't imagine the verbal lashing he'd receive from his father when Mordor officials handed them in. He'd probably lose his inheritance. He cleared his throat, and quietly asked, “And what if I refuse?”

Aragorn look at him now with a deadly, sharp glare, “I'm afraid we'll have to kill you.” Legolas' eyes grew wide, and he drew in a terrified breath. A moment later, Aragorn's expression cracked, and he started to chuckle, “Eru, I'm only kidding. No, you can just wait in the car. That’s cool. Besides, Gimli’s brave enough to go it alone if you chicken out.” Legolas’ stomach lurched, and he began to argue when he was interrupted.

“We're not turning around to drop you off now,” Gandalf said between bites of a granola bar. “And you know, there's always the off chance that if they catch you with us, you'll have to take the blame anyway, so you know...”

Legolas sighed. A half-formed thought began to rise in his head. So what if he got caught? It would serve his adar right, after all, for having always been so demanding and exacting Legolas' whole life. For always wanting Legolas to be a perfect, gleaming little version of his perfect, gleaming father. What a blight on Professor Oropherion’s stunning reputation for his son to turn out a criminal. And besides, those rat bastard Orcs were fools anyway, if they thought they could steal from _his_ alma mater and get away with it.

And there was no fucking way in the seven hells he’d let a bloody _Dwarf_ show him up.

“Fine,” Legolas gruffly said. “I’m in.”

“Great!” Aragorn nodded. “Gimli'll show you how to use a gun.” Legolas turned to the back seat where the four students from the Shire were squeezed in with Gimli, who had a distinctly sour expression on his face, surely due chiefly to the elbows digging into his ribs in the cramped space, even considering the prospect of having to play nice with the Elf.

Lifting a paintball gun from the rear storage, Gimli explained briefly the ins and outs of “blasting the ever loving shit” out of their enemies, as he had gleefully put it. As Legolas pelted his car mates with heaps of questions, the grave fellowship rode even closer to their destination and the worrying mission that awaited them there.

 

Night had fallen, and they'd already driven a couple of hours by the time they reached the shadowy outskirts of the Mordor University campus. “Here, pull in next to this motorbike,” Gandalf said, pointing next to a snowy white motorbike with the word _Shadowfax_ emblazoned in silver across the side. Sam pulled the car into a discreet spot between the bike and an overflowing dumpster and killed the ignition. Gandalf turned to the guys in the back seats. “Well, kiddies, are we ready to take back our honor and pride?” They resounded with a heartfelt, if subdued, war cry. Legolas wasn't so sure.

They exited the SUV and huddled around the rear as Boromir began passing out the appropriate equipment. They began pulling on black ski mask, when Boromir asked, “Pippin, you got that lighter?” Pippin's eyes grew wide.

“Shit, man. No.” Boromir was about to start ragging on him, but Gandalf interrupted with a triumphant sound.

“I have one! Hang on,” he said, as he rummaged in his bag. Before tossing the lighter over to Pippin, he lit up the remains of the joint he'd started earlier. Legolas rolled his eyes.

“Is this really the time?”

“I've gotta stay focused, Legolas,” Gandalf said matter-of-factly. “I'm communing with the Eagles soon.” Legolas' eyes screwed in confusion and anger.

“We'd better get going,” Aragorn warned, paying attention for any sound of approaching enemies. “The longer we stay here, the larger the targets on our backs grow. Frodo, you guys know the way once we get you to the tower's security fence?” The short boy nodded. “Good. We'll all meet back here within forty five minutes. If any of you doesn't make it back by that time, we'll assume the worst has happened, and we'll be forced to leave you. Understood?” The group nodded. Sam leaned over to Aragorn and whispered something into the taller boy's ear. He slipped something into Aragorn's hand. Aragorn braced Sam's shoulder solemnly with a deep nod of his head.

“Here goes nothing, then,” Gimli announced, leading the group now into the heart of the tempest.

“Godspeed, fellows!” Gandalf called softly. Legolas whipped around to see that Gandalf remained chilling by the car, still working on the last bit of the roach.

“What? He's not coming with us?” He whispered to Gimli. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Relax, Pretty Boy,” Gimli gruffly whispered, his beard puffing out under the mask. “He knows what he's doing. He's kind of a wizard about these things.”

“He’s high as shit. Eru, this night just keeps getting worse,” Legolas groused to himself, before the group reached the end of the small copse of trees that had been protecting them from the light of the lamps standing tall over the sidewalks that wound across the campus lawns. They perched at the edge, and Aragorn stopped to listen intently.

“Legolas,” he whispered. “Can you see anything?” Legolas squinted into the night, staring into the spaces that the lamplight had left him night blind to.

“All clear for now.”

Aragorn gestured them forward, and they stealthily flitted past the spots of lamplight into the shadow of a tall statue several hundred feet across the open courtyard. “Legolas, what do your Elf eyes see?”

Again, Legolas squinted into the shadows all around them. “N... Nothing. I think everyone's gone to bed or something. This place is empty.” He noticed Aragorn give Boromir a worried look. They both then looked at Gimli, who shook his head gravely.

“Oh, well,” Aragorn said finally. “We trudge on. Be on full alert.” Again, they trod on light feet gingerly across the exposed, vulnerable expanses of the lawns and paths between the tall, dark buildings, avoiding lamp posts as often as possible. Soon, the form of the water tower began to rise in the distance, lit red and orange with spotlights. “Another five minutes, and we'll be there. Hopefully.”

“Aragorn,” Gimli implored. “This is too easy. Where is everyone? The whole campus is so still and quiet.”

“Where is your strength, Gimli?” Aragorn asked indignantly. “Where is the fierce warrior who helped plan our revenge in his dorm room every night for nearly a week? Don’t tell me that your will is failing you.” Gimli swallowed his protest and looked at Legolas out of the corner of his eye.

“I am that warrior,” he protested, a solemn caricature of all the King Arthur movies the two friends had glutted themselves on building up to this night. “I will not fail you.” They embraced each other for a moment. “Now, I think we should head for those trees up ahead. We may pass unseen for at least a hundred yards if we go through there.” Again, the group of eight comrades huddled in the dark, scrambling down an unlit path into the relative security of the thicket.

A moment passed in which the group fought to catch their breath, but before they could decide on the next move, all hell broke loose as the gang was suddenly surrounded by a resounding chorus of ugly battle cries and bright fog lights filling their senses. Legolas was momentarily blinded and deafened and nearly dropped his gun as they were bum rushed by a pack of yowling Orcs.

“Ambuuuuuuuuuuush!” He heard Gimli bellow, and he began firing wildly in all directions, too panicked to spare a thought for who he might be hitting. He heard a stampede of footsteps trailing off deeper into the thicket as he continued bombarding the chaos around him with paintballs. Belatedly, he realized that he was releasing a long yell himself. The feral scream ripped through his chest. He jerked when he felt a hand fall on his shoulders, and he whipped around to shoot the interloper only to realize it was just Gimli. He felt a surge of relief.

“Whoa there, Rambo,” Gimli commanded. “We've run them off temporarily, and you need to save pellets.” Legolas whipped around, taking quick inventory of his surroundings. The tree in front of him was dripping with the same green paint as the balls in his gun. He blushed. He swung around wildly, looking for the rest of the gang.

“Where are the Hobbits?” He shouted. “And Boromir?”

Aragorn sidled up to him, dumping more paintballs into the reservoir on his gun. “I saw Frodo and Sam escape that way,” he said, pointing slightly west of the water tower. “Boromir disappeared with Merry and Pippin. I hope against all hope he's able to protect them.”

“So that's _it_?” Legolas demanded, growing frantic. “We've been defeated that easily? We just give up?”

“Hang on,” Gimli interrupted. “No one said anything about defeat.”

“So what the hell do you propose we do now, Gimli?” Legolas growled. “The proverbial shit has hit the proverbial fan.” Aragorn held up his hands between them.

“Right now's not the time for a lover's quarrel,” he sassed. “We just contact Gandalf and see what he'd have us do.” Aragorn called into his walkie, trying to contact their General, their Commissar, their Toast Master. The channel remained dead.

Rage and hopelessness welled up in Legolas' chest. “Oh, great!” He growled. “The damn pothead's fallen asleep. This whole shit show was fucked from the start!” He could practically feel his inheritance slipping from his fingers, his expulsion from school, his father's eternally disappointed glower.

“This fucking princess!” Gimli hissed. “I told you he'd just cause problems. Never trust an Elf!” Legolas turned to Gimli with a sneer, reaching for the collar of his shirt, jerking him up to meet him eye to eye.

“Listen here, you bearded, fucking hipster…”

“Let's calm down,” Aragorn said softly, but in a wary tone, and the two fell away from each other. “Boromir's with Merry and Pippin. At the very least, we can head west and try to aid in the distraction attempt. They can't be too far ahead of us.” Gimli nodded rapidly.

“Right, right,” he said to himself. “It's not over yet.”

 

“Boromir! Boromir!” Frodo screamed at the top of his lungs as he watched helplessly while four Orcs dragged the struggling boy away. Sam's face was grim as he fired round after round of paintballs after them, to no avail. “Fuck!” Eventually, the pack of Orcs disappeared, and Boromir's shouts faded to quiet. Sam paused to refill his gun.

“Shit!” Sam cried in dismay. “I tried to stop them, Frodo. I just... I ran out of paintballs, and all the extras must have fallen out of my pocket or something! I tried.” Frodo turned to him with fear and compassion in his eyes.

“You did what you could for Boromir,” he said gently. “As for the paintballs, we'll just have to be really careful from now on,” he said softly. “Besides, it'll be easier with only the two of us. More stealthy this way.”

“But how do we get to the tower?” He asked. “We've completely lost sight of it, and we have no idea where we are.” Frodo smiled confidently.

“We'll just use Smeagol,” he said surely, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“ _Smeagol_? Are you joking?” Sam asked skeptically. “Smeagol's even worse than Apple Maps. It's a real stinker. You don’t have a single other GPS app we could use?”

“Sam, I trust Smeagol,” he said imploringly. “Will you trust me?” Sam looked into his deep blue eyes and felt himself nodding against his will. “Great,” Frodo said happily while he started tapping info into his phone, praying for some kind of cell reception.

 

“Pip!” Merry hissed from the top of the tall statue of Dean Melkor. “Toss me the lighter!” He wrangled the huge bundle of firecrackers into place with a length of rope and snatched the lighter out of the air with a single hand. “Get ready to haul ass, because once I light this bitch, it'll be like a goddamn lightning storm hit us.”

“Just hurry up, Merry!” Pippin called. “I hear someone coming.”

“Fire in the hole!” Merry called as he lit the fuse and jumped the fifteen or so feet from the top of the statue. “Run for the trees!” The two had nearly reached a small thicket as holy hell broke loose behind them. The entire courtyard was lit bright as day, and a deafening, unholy explosion filled their ears. They dove for cover moments before the courtyard, now safely in the distance, was flooded with legions of Orcs frantically searching for the source of the confusion, as rockets of red and blue and green fire went ricocheting in all directions around the courtyard, lighting up the night sky.

“Shit, Merry!” Pippin gushed. “There's gotta be like fifty of those sons of bitches.” The Orcs began searching the surrounding area for the mischief makers.

“Pip!” Merry hissed, and Pippin looked around for the source of his cousin's disembodied voice. “Get your ass up here before they find you!”

Pippin peered up into Merry's face looking down at him from the branches above. He scrambled up the tree, but the bark felt strange, synthetic, hollow as he struggled up the trunk. “Give me a hand! Not everyone's as good a climber as you!”

“This tree is weird,” he began to say, but they both shut their mouths as a small group of Orcs came crashing into the thicket with flashlights and seriously peeved expressions.

 

“Still nothing from Gandalf?” Gimli asked, showing the first real signs of doubt since Aragorn's pep talk before everything went south. They paused in a very narrow alley between two buildings to catch their breath and recalibrate their location. Legolas' armpit ached from storing the gun there while they ran.

“Nothing,” Aragorn said inscrutably. “That's unlike him.” Legolas heaved a sigh.

“We were foolish to depend on him in the first place,” he said. “Let's just carry on. The only thing we can do now is try to catch up with Boromir and the others. As soon as they set off the fireworks, we can go back to the car.”

“And abandon Frodo and Sam?” Aragorn demanded.

“Look,” Legolas reasoned, “the way I see it, had things gone to plan, we’d have gotten them a lot closer to the tower before getting caught. That fell through. If we catch up with Frodo and Sam now, well, the target is a lot bigger and a lot louder. If it's just the two of them, well, maybe they can pass through unnoticed. The last thing we want to do is draw attention to them.”

“I hate to say this, Aragorn,” Gimli said, “but old Pointy Ears is right. The only chance Frodo and Sam stand is if we aid in the distraction.” Aragorn thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay,” he agreed. “They're most likely heading to the very center of campus, where the Student Union and that one creepy statue are. It's far enough and central enough to draw the Orcs in.” The trio took a fortifying breath and had nearly started to run when a chaotic burst of fireworks ripped through the night about 500 yards west of where they stood. “Ah,” Aragorn said. “That'll be the Hobbits, then.”

“Back to the van?” Gimli suggested.

“Back to the van!” Aragorn agreed, and the trio changed their course, continuing to flit through the shadows as they made haste.

 

“Sam,” Frodo gasped, wedged bodily in the gap they'd tried to wrench into the security fence surrounding the water tower. “I'm stuck. I can't get loose.” Sam fidgeted nervously, hands uselessly fluttering around, trying to loosen his comrade.

“Well, this is perfect,” he groused. “If it's not Smeagol getting us lost and nearly captured three times, it was always going to end up being the bleeding fence that stopped us.” He grabbed Frodo's outreached hand and finally yanked his friend out of the tight spot. Frodo immediately collapsed, overcome with anguish.

“This was the worst idea we've ever had,” he nearly cried. “What were we thinking? We didn't even bring wire cutters.” He dropped his head into his hand. Sam sighed and sat down with him. He took Frodo's walkie talkie and held down the talk button.

“Gandalf! Mayday! Mayday!” He whispered.

“It's no use,” Frodo whined.

“Gandalf! The foxes are locked out of the chicken coop! I repeat: the foxes are locked out of the chicken coop! Do you copy? Over.”

 

About ten minutes had passed before Merry felt he could breathe. “Do you think it's safe to head back to Bill?” He asked.

“Yeah, you're probably fine to head back now,” came the muffled reply.

Merry was confused. He snapped, “What do you mean 'you?'”

Pippin was just as confused. He demanded, “Merry, why are you talking to yourself?”

“He's not talking to himself,” came the muffled reply again.

“Seriously, Merry, this isn't the time for jokes,” Pippin warned.

“Do you hear me laughing?” Merry asked furiously. “This is an extremely inappropriate moment to suddenly develop an interest in ventriloquism.”

“Guys, chill!” Came the exhausted reproach.

Merry and Pippin realized with widening eyes that neither of them had spoken that time, and they frantically looked around for the puckish interloper. “Who goes there? Show yourself!”

“Well, if you'll get out of my branches, I can!”

The two looked at each other again, monumentally confused, but they hopped down from the tree nevertheless. A moment or two passed while the tree trembled in a manner distinctly un-treelike. A gap began opening down the length of the truck, and shortly thereafter, an odd man with a short brown beard and brown clothing stumbled out.

“Sup? I'm TB. Gandalf sent me,” the tall, oaky man announced, holding a hand forward for them to shake. Merry and Pippin just looked at him strangely. The man brushed back his hair with the hand instead. “Anyway, Gandalf asked me to keep an eye on you guys. I kind of owe him for... reasons... Anyway, that's not important. What's important is keeping you safe.”

“Did you just come out of a fucking tree?” Merry asked, deadpan in his disbelief.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered with very visible pride. “You impressed? I'm a grad student studying Costume Design. I think I've effectively perfected The Background Tree.”

“I'm sure your parents are very proud,” Pippin said blandly.

“They haven't said as much, no…” He started vaguely, but he trailed off as his attention was drawn into the distance. “Ah, finally!” He announced. Merry and Pippin whipped around as a single dim headlight came closer, the growl of a motorbike engine growing clearer all the while. Merry and Pippin became more and more panicked as the light headed straight for them.

The motorbike whipped to a stop several feet in front of the small group, and the two Hobbits were taken aback when they realized it was Gandalf sitting aloft the gleaming white motorbike. “TB, my man, I see you all were successful.”

“You're late,” the man answered, scratching his ratty beard. “And the girl? She still coming?”

“Woman, and yes," came a female voice from the other side of the small group. They whipped around to see a slight woman come to a halt on a black electric scooter. Pulling off her helmet, she shook her short blonde hair and glumly said, “My dad tried to stop me from coming when he found out what I was up to. Anyway, whatever.” She tossed a spare helmet towards Merry. “I’m Eowyn. Rohan Agricultural College. Friend of Gandalf’s. Hop on!”

Without a word, Merry joined the woman on her e-bike, and Gandalf helped Pippin onto the back of the motorbike. “Remember the plan?” He asked the woman. “Separate paths. Meet at the van.” She nodded, fastening her helmet. Then, she revved up her bike and zipped off down the path with Merry clinging to her abdomen for dear life.

“Later, nerds!” She called as they flew towards the safety of the SUV.

Gandalf turned to TB once more and said, “Thanks again, old friend. And I'll be sure to get you that... uh... package we discussed.”

“Don't mention it,” TB replied quickly, growing visibly uncomfortable. “Really. Don't.” He gave the two a little bow and slid himself back into his arboreal creation.

 

“Fuck, no one's here, guys," Gimli said, peering into the dark windows of the SUV.

“Any sign of Gandalf?” Legolas asked with an arch expression.

“This isn't good, guys,” Aragorn said, checking his watch. “They all should have gotten back by now. It's been over an hour.” He kicked the overflowing dumpster and growled in pain when his toe connected too hard.

“Well, what do we do now?” Gimli was beginning to panic. “You heard Frodo and Sam on the radio. They couldn't get into the water tower. We can't just wait here like sitting ducks. The Orcs will already be patrolling for us.”

“ _Ai, Eru_ , who has the keys?” Legolas asked suddenly, eyes alight with the spark of inspiration.

“Sam does!” Gimli growled like a storm cloud roiling with lightning bolts. “It's his fucking car, genius!” Legolas rounded on him, beginning to tell him off, but Aragorn interrupted them.

“Wait!” He hissed. “I've got the keys. Sam gave them to me before we set off. He said he wanted us to be ready in case he needed to, you know, throw himself to the wolves… for our sakes.” The three paused for a moment in shared admiration for Sam's bravery. Legolas placed his hand over his heart and lowered his head.

“What a class act,” Gimli said to himself.

“Okay, guys," Legolas instructed, suddenly jumping to and shoving Aragorn towards the driver’s door. “Get in the car. I've got a plan. Aragorn, you're driving. Gimli, load your gun.”

 

“Sam, this is pointless!” Frodo hissed. He nervously fidgeted. “No one's coming.” Sam rubbed his friend’s hand and gave him an encouraging smile, even though his own heart was heavy with doubt and fear.

“Gandalf would never leave us high and dry,” he swore. “He heard our call. I just know he did. Now all that's left is for us to figure out how to get through this blasted gate.” They sat miserably for a moment before Sam was struck with an idea. “I know! Maybe there's a weak spot in the fence. We keep trying to get through the locked gate, but maybe there's another way in!”

 

“Those fucking traitors!” Merry yelled as he and Eowyn pulled into sight of where they parked the SUV, which was now rapidly gunning out of its parking spot and making a U-turn in the road, driving away from the rapidly approaching duo.

“We'll follow them!” She shouted. “Maybe we'll catch up with them at a light or something!”

“If they leave me here, I swear to Iluvatar…”

 

“Where the hell is the van, Gandalf?” Pippin demanded as they whipped to a stop in the vacant space next to the dumpster. “Please don't tell me they left us in fucking purgatory!”

Gandalf ignored him for a moment, peering at his phone with hazy eyes. “We _did_ have an arrangement. We were late. They did what they had to.”

“Gandalf, this little dirt bike isn't going to get us all the way back to Eryn Lasgalen!” Pippin screeched. Gandalf ignored the slight against his beloved motorbike and stroked his beard until inspiration hit him.

Revving the engine again, he turned back to Pippin. “I have a hunch, and if I'm right, it won't have to!” He shouted, laughing as they peeled onto the road.

 

“Guys, I hate to rain on your parade,” Gimli said, voice raised in worry, “but I think we're being followed. You're gonna have to run that red light up ahead.”

“We're almost to the tower,” Aragorn said. “Guns at the ready, guys!” Legolas rolled down his window on the front passenger side.

He turned to the backseat and snarled at Gimli, “Let's waste these bastards, Beardy.”

Gimli's eyes narrowed in pleased surprise. “Who _are_ you, and what have you done with Pointy Ears?”

 

“Sam,” Frodo whispered frantically as the two hid under some low brush. “Every minute we stay here, there are more and more Orcs flooding in. They know why we've come. They won't leave the tower unguarded.”

“Frodo-”

“Sam, listen to me,” Frodo whispered, silencing his friend. “You have to find a way out. Tell the others what happened here. I'll distract them, and…”

“No!” Sam hissed. “I can't let you do that! I swore to Gandalf that I wouldn't drop your ass, that I wouldn't fuck you over. And I don't mean to. I don't mean to.” Frodo grimaced, grasping Sam's arm.

“Sam, you've got to! It's the only-”

His pleas were cut off by a sudden, rapid approach of blinding headlights, a wailing car horn and the horrible metallic bang of metal paneling against chain link fence less than a few yards from where they hid. A cry of anger burst out from the crowd of Orcs now gathered to guard the water tower's entrance far away on the other side of the enclosure. Sam and Frodo scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. 

Sam's face grew white when he realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the overwhelming support and feedback you guys have been leaving. It's super humbling, and I really value it. I'm also working on my first Harry Potter fic right now, and I'm really living on the mental boost you guys are giving me.
> 
> I felt that Legolas didn't really have a theme for this chapter, but I felt that the theme music you should be listening to while reading this chapter is "[Na Na Na](https://youtu.be/egG7fiE89IU)" by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> You can find me on my tumblr [here](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).


	17. Chapter 17

“My car!” Sam wheezed, stumbling blindly, hands clutching his heart in shock. “ _Bill_.” Unthinking, he charged forth from the cover of the undergrowth and began screaming at his friends who were now leaping from the car with paintball guns blazing once their enemies were close enough to see the whites of their eyes. “You assholes! You wrecked my car!”

Legolas took note of the two Hobbits running towards them from the brush. Eyes trained on the encroaching enemy, he shouted, “It's a fender bender! Look, you jag!” He waved behind them to the tear in the fence. “There's a big enough hole to squeeze through now.” Sam shook with anger, oblivious to the small horde of encroaching Orcs.

“You. Wrecked. My. _Car_.”

“Oh my god,” Legolas groaned, blasting an Orc in the chest from a solid forty five feet away. “Don't _worry_! I'll pay to have it fixed! Just go get that fucking mascot! We'll hold them off!” He shouted, popping Orc after Orc in paint splatters, holding the shouting mob at bay temporarily as they attempted to huddle behind trees and parked cars. “Hurry!”

Frodo tugged imploringly at Sam’s sleeve, and realizing he’d get nowhere with Legolas, Sam finally turned and chased after his friend, the two of them climbing over the hood of the SUV, sliding gingerly through the massive hole it had torn in the fence, very carefully avoiding getting their clothes snagged on the jagged metal. Once through the breach, they hauled ass towards their quarry, puffing and reeling with the exertion of it. Aragorn charged forth into the fray of the Orcs, swinging a foam LARPing sword that he'd conveniently stashed beneath the middle row of seats in the SUV.

“Aragorn!” Legolas shouted, the telltale high pitch of growing panic in his voice. “Got any more of those handy swords? We're almost out of ammo!” Aragorn hewed through the ranks of about ten Orcs, who cursed and shoved and scattered from him in fear of being bonked again across the head by the Nerf-stick-wielding mad man.

“'Fraid not!” He shouted back. “Just start punching!”

Legolas began to argue while he fired, but his complaints stopped short as he was suddenly overcome by a particularly broad, tall Orc with a nasty scar down the side of his face. The Orc roughly grabbed Legolas’ throat and a fistful of loose hair, Legolas’ eyes grew wide in panic. His arms clutched numbly at the Orc’s forearms. Pain was shooting through his scalp, and he could feel his windpipe crushing. His legs were heavy with shock. This was it. This was the end. He could feel his own heart pounding in his ears, and the roar of blood whooshing through him blocked out any other sound as the Orc snarled an ugly victory scant inches from Legolas’ drawn face. But in the very next second, Legolas felt himself thrown bodily as the Orc yelped and dropped to the ground. Legolas quickly came to his senses, coughing and choking, and to his eternal surprise, he found a rather furiously growling Gimli sitting squarely on the Orc’s chest, eyes wild as a rabid dog’s. He held his paintball pistol directly between the struggling Orc’s eyes.

“You alright, Princess?” He hissed, his chest heaving and teeth grit in a fierce grimace. Legolas’ mouth snapped shut, and his eyes bulged again in surprise. Legolas nodded mutely before snapping to and returning to fighting for their lives. Gimli was kind of hot when he was playing warrior like this. Legolas almost laughed at the absurdity of such a thing.

Their prospects were beginning to look grim. There were only three of them standing against a steadily growing horde of Orcs, now at least twenty in total but with more arriving every minute the battle dragged on. Legolas glanced at Aragorn and realized with a sickening dawning of realization that the young man was flagging rapidly. They really should just get in the SUV and drive the hell out of there. He quickly cast a glance towards the water tower and sighed with the regret that they couldn’t leave the Hobbits high and dry. 

Their prospects really had taken a turn for the worse, and Legolas began to despair as he noticed a small, white dirt bike come zipping up a paved sidewalk with two helmeted riders. His heart swelled in fear as the bike tore through the scattering Orc horde and came tearing right at them. It finally rumbled to a stop right next to the three allies, and the two riders leaped off the bike immediately and flung their helmets off. Legolas' mouth dropped open, and he forgot to continue firing his few remaining rounds, though had he not been suddenly overcome with righteous indignation at the sudden presence of one particularly useless _Toast Master_ , he would have noticed with a bubble of relief that the enemy seemed to be retreating for a scant moment. He rounded on Gandalf, lips drawn tight over his teeth in fury.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” He shouted in Gandalf's face.

Gandalf grimaced at him. “I was delayed,” he said cryptically. “My friend who'd given us all the useful intelligence we used to hatch our plans... Well, he locked me in a... well, a Port-a-John. We've been betrayed. This whole thing was an ambush.”

“Ah, _fucking_ Saruman!” Aragorn groaned. “You know, TB told you that guy was up to some shit!” He turned back to swinging the Nerf sword wildly, though the Orcs now stood at bay, as though waiting for something.

“Yeah, well, TB's super into dragon dildos, so I usually just ignore what he says,” Gandalf snapped. Legolas sputtered at that. Gandalf smirked and said, “It’s a thing, dude. Google it.” 

“Boromir was right, Gandalf,” Aragorn said grimly. “We never should have taken advice from dudes in your Magic the Gathering club.” Gandalf was taken aback, clearly offended by whatever accusations Aragorn was trying to make.

“Hey, man,” he said. “The Witch-King had some pretty good insights, strategy-wise. He’s almost undefeated at our tournaments.” Aragorn sighed pointedly but decided to drop the discussion. Gandalf looked around for a moment before asking, “Where’s Frodo and Sam?” Gimli nodded up towards the water tower, where they could now see the outline of their two short friends climbing up the precarious height.

“Why aren't any of the Orcs coming at Frodo and Sam through the gate?” Pippin asked gravely.

“I imagine Frodo and Sam fucked up the lock when they tried to get in earlier,” Gimli answered, wiping the sweat from his brow on the back of his flannel sleeve. “Which means that they're all going to be headed straight to the only working entrance.” His face dropped in dawning realization. “Straight to us.”

“We’ll be completely surrounded,” Legolas cried.

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” Gimli grumbled.

“Where's Merry?” Pippin suddenly asked, yanking anxiously at Gandalf’s sleeve. “They didn't get him, did they?” Gandalf looked decidedly at a loss for words.

 

“Dammit, Merry,” Eowyn cursed, her voice muffled by her helmet. “They lost us. I'm afraid electric scooters aren't any match for proper car engines.” The two rolled to a stop next to a nondescript campus building, pausing to organize their thoughts enough to think of a next step. Eowyn was mumbling to herself animatedly. Merry jumped slightly when she threw her face into her hands and growled a paroxysm of frustration.

“What I don't get,” she began, “is why they were going in the opposite direction of the highway. If they were going home, they wouldn't have gone the way they did. So why the change of course?” Her face was the very image of deadly seriousness. “And why not tell us on the walkie talkie if the information wasn't sensitive?”

“Where are you going with this, Eowyn?” Merry asked. His forehead scrunched when she glanced up in the air every which way for a few tense moments.

“What are you- Why do you keep looking up like that?” He asked, irritated by her distraction.

“Thought I saw something,” she answered slowly. “Could be nothing.” Jumping back on her train of thought, she continued, “Anyway, what I'm thinking,” she paused for effect, “is that they're going to help out Sam and Frodo.”

“Okay, but how?” He asked skeptically, still watching the night sky.

“That's what I can't figure out,” she answered, frustration filling her tone once more. “Anything they do will only draw attention to Sam and Frodo. It just doesn't make any- Shit!” Eowyn hissed suddenly, pointing up at the air. “Nazgul!”

“Nazgul?” Pippin asked, jerking around frantically to see what she was directing him to see.

“Spy drone,” she explained. “We'd better move. We'll be surrounded soon.”

“A little too late for precaution, _m'lady_!” Came a snarling voice from a few yards behind them. Eowyn and Merry jerked around to see a tall, dark, robed figure climbing from his black Subaru. He held a cheap katana aloft in his hand, pointed directly towards Eowyn. “Such a pretty little thing. Bet you've friendzoned a lot of guys in your time. I'd cooperate now, if I was you, m'dear.” Eowyn looked at the man and grimaced, as though confronted with the smell of rotting garbage. She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a rather unimpressed smirk. Merry was not so calm and collected.

“How 'bout you go fuck yourself, Kurosawa!” He yelled, leaping quite a distance from the back of the e-bike. He crashed into the guy's chest, knocking him and his sword askew across the pavement below. Rolling to a stop, he began clumsily grappling with their fallen foe. “Seriously,” he grumbled between swipes at each other, “who the fuck wears a cape these days?”

Eowyn leapt into the fray with a high battle cry and catapulted herself to their would-be attacker, just as he had overthrown Merry, reaching frantically for his katana in the dark. She nearly skidded to the ground as her right foot found purchase on said sword and went sliding. Quickly, regained her balance and bent to pick it up. She tossed it far away, into the bushes.

“My blade!” He cried, rising onto his knees.

She pulled a paintball pistol from her jacket and coolly held it directly between the guy's eyes. “How do you like me now, bitch?”

He snarled in impotent outrage. “No man has ever bested the Witchking of Angmar! Never!”

“I am no man,” she growled, “you goddamn neckbeard.” She popped two rounds into his chest, point blank. He doubled over, clutching at the paint splatters above his heart. She tossed her hair back triumphantly, “And in order to be friendzoned, you'd actually have to find women willing to be friends with you.” She popped another round right above his heart with the other two, just for good measure. “Merry, passenger's seat! Now!”

The two leaped into the stalling Subaru, and Eowyn revved the engine. Ignoring the voice in his head that they were, in fact, about to steal a car, he clicked his buckle and leaned back for a moment. A moment of confused silence passed before Merry finally blurted, “Who the fuck calls themselves the Witchking of Angmar?”

“You'll have to ask Gandalf,” she answered, laughing, and he could tell that was all she was going to say on the matter as they sped ever closer to the water tower looming in the distance.

 

“Gandalf!” Aragorn shouted, as he swung his foam sword wildly. It was bent at a terrible angle and beginning to flop more than strike against their foes. Night had fallen, and the enemy had united against them. “We can't hold them off much longer!”

“Ammo's gone, Gandalf!” Pippin cried.

Gandalf swung his LARPing staff alongside Aragorn, trying to shield the rest of the gang from the slowly advancing enemy. In the distance, he could see a pair of bright approaching headlights, followed by what seemed like a cloud of fireflies. As the lights grew closer, the buzzing of several dirt bike engines grew louder and clearer.

“It's the Witchking! Get in the van!” Gandalf bellowed, and the gang gave up their fight, leaping headfirst into their SUV. They had just clicked the doors shut when the first wave of Orcs collided with the car doors. The ones who weren't scrambling to try to pry the doors open were struggling to pull themselves through the hole in the fence and race towards the water tower. Only a few got through, most having gotten snagged on the sharp metal, but a few was enough to worry Legolas.

Suddenly, chaos ensued as the approaching car finally reached the fence. Only, rather than stopping, the engine revved, and the car crashed headlong into the fence, ripping a sizable hole in it as it sped onward towards the water tower. A flock of dapper young men in trim, dove grey biker jackets hastily followed after the Subaru on vintage motorbikes, determined, it seemed, to overtake the car and its clearly psychotic driver. In a uniform maneuver, the stylish squad zoomed through the wreckage of the fence that the SUV had left in its wake.

Gandalf turned to watch the riders pass with a grim face. “Who the hell was that?” Aragorn shouted.

“Never mind!” He answered in a voice that brooked no argument. “Let's get the hell out of here!” He scrambled into the driver's seat and turned the keys that still sat in the ignition. “Buckle up! It's gonna be a bumpy ride!”

 

“Sam!” Frodo gasped, gazing from the tank of the tower afar to where their friends were nearly being overtaken by Orcs. He squeezed the mascot costume with sweating palms. “The Orcs are gaining ground. Pretty soon, we're going to be flooded with them.” No sooner had he spoken when they witnessed their friends retreating into the safety of Bill's metal walls. The first of a handful of Orcs breached the fence and began the long jog (nearly fifty yards) to the tower.

“Look, Frodo!” Sam shouted, pointing excitedly towards the car that was speeding towards the fence. The crash and squeal of metal ripping against metal ground at their bones. “Look who's following, Frodo! It's the Eagles!”

“Come on,” Frodo commanded. “Down we go.” They began the precarious climb down the tall ladder, Frodo cradling the plush costume in one arm. Sam kept looking back up at him to make sure he was safe. “Faster, Sam!”

As they descended, the Subaru screeched to a stop mere feet from the base of the water tower. The Eagles flew to a stop almost in perfect unison, preparing paintball rifles, pointing at the doors of the SUV as they slowly opened and the occupants exited with hands up.

“Friends of Gandalf!” Eowyn shouted. “Don't shoot!”

The apparent leader of the Eagles drove a little closer. He was handsome, with strong, fine hands and rich, brown skin. He spoke to her, suspicion apparent in his warm, low voice. “Why are you in the Witchking's car?”

“We beat him up and stole it,” Merry answered with a red face.

“You beat... That's assault and grand theft auto, dude.” The leader looked at another of his gang for a moment, silent communication passing between them. Eventually, he turned back to Eowyn and Merry with a shrug. “Eh, the guy leaves his piss bottles under his bed.”

“He has a waifu,” the other Eagle added. “He bullies thirteen year old girls online.”

“He was gonna get his ass kicked eventually,” the leader finally said definitively. Without taking his eyes from Merry and Eowyn, he held out his paintball pistol, spun his arm around and hit three of the approaching Orcs square in the chest. The remaining Eagles all aimed their guns at the first of the Orcs who'd built up the courage to pursue them through the now gaping hole in the fence. These Orcs immediately retreated with dismayed curses. “Anyway, we're here to rescue you.” He looked up the ladder as Sam and Frodo approached.

“Don't leave without us!” Sam shouted, dropping onto the ground. Frodo landed shortly after.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” the leader answered jovially, helping Frodo and the mascot costume onto the back of his bike. “You're the hero, after all.”

Sam seemed a bit less than convinced. “Why are you helping us? This quarrel has nothing to do with your school!” He stood at the base of the tower with arms crossed against his chest, glowering, despite that Merry and Eowyn had also already mounted their escape vehicles. “You come swooping in, like birds out of the sky, like some kind of deus ex machina... I'm not buying it.”

“You're right to be skeptical,” the leader answered. “We normally keep out of trouble if we can help it, but we owe Gandalf a favor. He did us a major solid a while back. He's a good man.” Sam remained unsure.

“Sam!” Frodo shouted. “There's no time! Look!” He pointed at the breach in the fence and the flock of Orcs that were now jogging towards them. Sam sighed angrily and grabbed the outstretched hand of the waiting Eagle. He leapt on the back of the bike, and within moments, the gang was speeding through the pack of Orcs, through the breach in the fence and down the road to the old meeting place where this whole thing had started.

When they arrived on the Eagles' backs, the others of the gang were gathered around the SUV, waiting nervously. “Oh, thank _fuck_ ,” Gimli sighed when he saw the mascot in Frodo's tenacious embrace.

“Where's Boromir?” Merry and Pippin demanded as the three other boys dismounted. Frodo just looked at Aragorn and shook his head sadly.

Aragorn released a resigned sigh. “Oh.” He crossed himself.

“Gandalf, old friend,” the Eagle leader said warmly, saluting his companion.

“Gwaihir,” Gandalf said, returning the salute. “Consider our debt repaid.”

“We will return Eowyn to her bike,” he said. “If you ever have need for the service of the Eagles again, just, like, Facebook me or some shit.” He nodded curtly. “Eagles out!” With that, the group revved their engines and disappeared down the road.

 

The ride back to Eryn Lasgalen seemed much shorter than the ride to U of Mordor had been. The friends spent the trip recounting just what had happened in the last two hours, laughing hoarsely in a surge of relief and exhaustion. When Gimli regaled them with the story of Legolas' clever thinking regarding smashing Bill into the fence (Sam glowered, clearly not thinking Legolas nearly as clever as Gimli did), he patted the Elf on the back jovially. Legolas glanced at Gimli with wide side-eyes, and immediately, Gimli grew a little surlier.

“Pointy Ears is shite with a paintball gun, though,” the Dwarf added, and Legolas was relieved to see that Gimli was indeed quite well and hadn't, in fact, hit his head during the skirmish.

 

At some point during the ride back to Eryn Lasgalen, most of the riders in the van had fallen asleep. They pulled onto campus at nearly ten o'clock that night, and Frodo jerked awake suddenly, busying himself with shoving the mascot into a black bin liner. “With a bit of luck,” Legolas began, “everything will still be unlocked. Ada’s usually at home by this time on Fridays, so…” 

Sam pulled the van to a stop in front of the main administrator's building, where his father's office was located. A wave of apprehension washed over him. What if his ada had chosen to work late tonight? There'd be no way of knowing until they actually opened the door to drop off the mascot in his office. He took a steadying breath. Surely, Gandalf could just go in and drop it off himself.

“We won't need luck,” Gandalf said after a while. He didn't expand on the statement. “But just in case, Legolas, you'd better come with me.” Gimli gave him a challenging glare. Legolas bristled.

“Sure, no problem,” he agreed, though his voice rang with false bravado. The two crept stealthily into the building, past the empty receptionist's desk, up two flights of stairs, down a long, wooden hallway. “This one's it,” Legolas said. He turned the knob. It hardly budged. “We can just leave it here, right?” He offered.

“Told you we wouldn't need luck,” Gandalf said charmingly, as he fished his ring of keys from his tote bag. He unlocked the door, and Legolas shook his head in disbelief as the door slowly swung open, revealing an empty, dark room.

“Does my father know you have a key to his office?” He questioned the RA sternly.

Gandalf only gave him a twinkling smile. “What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him,” he said. “Isn't that right, Legolas?” Legolas gasped in faint outrage.

"Are you blackmailing me?" He demanded, losing to a bout of laughter. Gandalf laughed with him. He opened the door and chucked the costume inside before shutting and re-locking the door.

“Come on,” he said. “We all need some beer and pizza. Tonight has been decidedly traumatic.”

 

Tauriel>Lego!  
Tauriel>Sorry I’m texting so late  
Me>It’s a Friday night. I’m with friends at Mazio’s.  
Tauriel>Oh, that’s so good  
Tauriel>So  
Tauriel>Sunday lunch wyd?  
Me>No plans yet.  
Tauriel>Lunch with me and The Boy?  
Me>Fine  
Me>And if you blow me off this time, I’ll burn your house down.  
Tauriel>I love you, little Leggy.  
Me>I may just burn your house down anyway.  
Me>For good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, boy! What a roller coaster. Glad that's over! Now back to your regularly scheduled angst.
> 
> I imagine the Eagles as this super stylish, 1960s mod scooter gang. [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZLVdGT3RnVTctV1k)'s some photo inspiration, as well as my inspiration for [Gwaihir](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZbW9sMzF1OHdEazg).
> 
> There's no Legolas musical theme for this chapter, but every time I think about the Eagles cruising through the streets and just being all-around badasses, all I can hear in my head is "[Where Eagles Dare](https://youtu.be/4WoxLk2g4-w)" by the Misfits.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback, friends. It means a lot. Oh, and if you're one of those Harry Potter type of nerds, I just posted my first ever Harry Potter fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8607457/chapters/19738594). Of course, I couldn't stay away from my gross incest ships. Oh, well.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZczBVY0JnQ2NTbzg)'s the greenhouse. Knock yourself out, kiddos.

Thranduil arrived home in robot mode the next evening. He always hated working Saturdays, and when he finally dragged himself home later that evening, he wanted nothing more than a glass of wine and a soft place to rest. With glazed eyes, he neatly placed his boots under the low bench by the door to the garage and peeled off his blazer, socks and tie. He wearily unloaded his things onto the bench. His head swam with a laundry list of speeches needing written, reports needing query and a whole host of issues his staff had raised earlier throughout the week which Galion couldn’t sort out without Thranduil’s advising. 

The angry, vaguely threatening call he’d received that morning from Dean Sauron over at Mordor University was just another log on the fire beneath his ass, and it was certainly not a problem that was going to be managed soon, had Sauron’s description of the chaos and property damage been even remotely unexaggerated. Thranduil had been able to sweep much of it under the rug under the pretense of tradition and friendly school rivalry, but he worried Sauron would change his mind about pressing charges once he’d been able somehow to conclusively link Eryn Lasgalen’s involvement in the ordeal. His stomach was twisted in knots, and a low key migraine had been edging at him all day. He felt irritable, exhausted, unfocused. 

He padded into the kitchen and found Sabariel standing at the sink doing the washing up from dinner. Thranduil paused in the doorway, wavering in what to say to his wife. He noticed Legolas' bag on the kitchen table with a quiet surge of joy.

“Where’s Legolas?” He asked without preamble. She flinched.

“Greenhouse,” she answered curtly, toweling a plate dry. She kept her back to him.

“Is Meludir with him?” She froze, tea towel dangling from her fingers.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” She said under breath. She didn’t look up at her husband.

“I’d be over the _fucking_ moon, Sabariel,” he snapped back, eyes rolling. She glared at him, hands shaking over so slightly. Abandoning the conversation in a huff, he exited through the back patio door and walked down the stone path to the greenhouse on the far end of his land, just near where the forest began. As he drew closer, he could just make out strains of music coming from inside the building’s opaque glass walls.

As he wove his way into the greenhouse, through the walls of ferns and flowers that hung in a riot all around, he found his son sprawled out on the hammock at the far end of the long building, framed in orchids and ivy, the fingertips of one hand drawing lazy lines on the ground beneath him. His hair hung over the edge of the hammock netting like an icy waterfall. Thranduil could not drag his gaze away from the steady rise and fall of his son’s chest as he lie there. Legolas' eyes were closed, and a soft smile lit his lips as he hummed along to a song that Thranduil realized he vaguely recognized. The older man then noticed the three bottles of wine plopped next to a short stack of records and the vintage portable LP player he'd gotten Legolas for the boy's birthday last year. One of the bottles was already nearly empty.

“Back so soon?” He asked softly. Legolas didn’t jerk in surprise. He already knew the weight of those footsteps that had intruded into his current haze. For all the man’s tiptoeing, Legolas couldn’t have mistaken him for anyone else. His heart leaped in his chest, no doubt in dread and apprehension. He nodded finally, eyelashes still resting against his high cheekbones.

“I missed my records,” he whispered.

“You brought records to the dorm.”

“Not this one,” Legolas replied. He finally looked up at his father, standing across the room, watching from the narrow path. “You look like shit.”

“Language, Legolas,” he reprimanded, thinking he could say the same about the young man’s mussed hair and dark eyes. He glared sternly at his son when he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know about an ill-advised rescue mission in Mordor yesterday, would you?”

“Why would I know anything?” He answered with as much bland apathy as he could muster. Thranduil saw right through it and was duly unimpressed. The two stared hard at each other, waiting for a break in their other’s steely gaze. The moment passed when the weight of the day caught back up with Thranduil, so heavy on his shoulders that he simply surrendered and edged a few steps closer. He gestured to the record player.

“The Replacements, right?” He asked, awkwardly standing a few feet away from where Legolas was studiously ignoring him. Legolas' eyebrows quirked in pleased surprise. Thranduil smirked. “See? Your ada's still young and hip.” Legolas snorted, his eyes rolling. Thranduil pressed, grasping for something, anything to say. “So, uh… what album is this?”

" _Let It Be_ ," Legolas answered, and realizing that his father wasn’t going anywhere soon, he precariously swung himself into a sitting position on the wobbly swing. He patted the open space on the hammock as he reached down to pop open a second bottle of wine. He shoved the bottle into his father’s hands as the man wedged himself into place on the narrow sling. He fought a nervous shiver at the solid warmth now pressing against his hip and thigh. He cleared his throat, gazing hard at the label of his wine bottle. “The song's called ‘Unsatisfied.’ It's kind of an anthem, really.”

“An ode to angst,” Thranduil said wryly, taking a quick swig from the bottle. As the wine passed his tongue, he groaned obscenely in appreciation. Legolas tried to clear his throat again. Curious, Thranduil checked the label and then breathed an annoyed sigh. “Domaine de la Romanée Conti Montrachet,” he said pointedly, as though it should mean something to Legolas. It didn’t. “Did your mother say you could have this? She knows I was saving it for a special occasion.”

The boy just shrugged mutely as he leaned down to rest his shoulder against his end of the hammock. He pulled a swig of the cheap white he'd helped himself to. “Let's celebrate something, then.” Thranduil eventually sighed and shrugged and took another long drag of the extremely rare, expensive wine.

“How about normalcy?” He suggested, a wry smirk twisting his full lips. “Legolas, about the other day…”

“To normalcy,” Legolas toasted, clanking his bottle against Thranduil's. The young man’s heart was pounding like crazy. He took a slow, steady breath, willing his pulse to slow. Thranduil watched his son pensively for a moment, but Legolas avoided the man’s eyes. Eventually, Thranduil relaxed against the other end of the hammock, a wary distance built between the two of them.

“So, why are you really here?” He asked. Legolas swallowed hard. He shrugged.

“I’m not homesick,” he said defensively.  
“I didn’t think you were.” The man reached over and gave Legolas’ knee a quick squeeze, and when Legolas jumped ever so slightly, Thranduil pulled his hand back as though burned. They both fell into a tense silence. Thranduil grappled with the urge to just leave.

The two of them passed some time in this way, trying desperately to languish in the waves of guitar and drum that washed over the warm room and its riot of verdant life, the occasional slosh of a wine bottle the only interruption as they clung to the liquor that was slowly filling their limbs with a comforting buzz. The song changed, and Legolas inhaled deeply, a smile finally back on his face. “I love this one.”

“What is it?” Thranduil rasped.

“’Sixteen Blue.’ It…” Legolas began to answer. He chewed his lip for a moment. “It means a lot to me.” Thranduil listened closely to the raw, broken voice spilling forth around them with refrains of despair and desolation and the loss of innocence, the remains of youth in the wake of the onward march of time. His heart slowly filled with melancholy.

“Your age is the hardest age,” Thranduil repeated tenderly. “Everything drags and drags.” He could feel Legolas nod morosely in the swaying of the hammock. When he glanced over at the boy, Legolas was folded in on himself, eyes damp with heavy, unshed tears. Thranduil felt compelled to brighten those sad eyes, but he struggled with himself. He felt useless. Finally, he said softly, “Trust me, it gets better. Life... Even when things get shitty, it's still better than being a teenager.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Legolas bitterly scoffed, taking a deep slug of wine. 

Thranduil scowled, his eyes dark, his lip giving a twitch. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Legolas turned to him with a matching glare as a tear slipped down his cheek.

“Take a look at your own fucking life,” he snarled, “before you feed me some line about how it all gets better.” The blood left Thranduil’s face as the full sting of Legolas’ disdain wrapped around his heart.

Weakly, he argued, “I have moments of _great_ joy.”

“Yeah, sucking off horny teenage dick,” his son quipped cruelly, carelessly, his voice nonchalant though his eyes shone with hate and sorrow, and Thranduil felt, with horror, a hollow pang open up in his chest and the beginning sting of tears blossom in his own eyes. He tried to get up, to leave. He wouldn’t do that in front of his son. He wouldn’t cry. 

Legolas realized too late just how malicious and vindictive he was being, and he grabbed his father’s arm, rooting the man to the spot. He wrapped his arms around his father as a stream of tears fell down the boy’s red cheek. He struggled for words for a moment. “Ada, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m drunk. I’m sorry.” His voice was desperate, but Thranduil remained frozen, brow still knit with emotion. He couldn’t look at his son. 

“Please let me go,” Thranduil asked rigidly. Legolas pulled away with a burning red face and sniffling nose. He nodded weakly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“ _Never_ ,” Thranduil said slowly, voice shaking with restrained anger, “speak to me like that again. You’re my son. You have no right.”

“I know, ada,” he sighed. “I just… I just feel like… like I need so much from other people, and I don't know how to ask for it," Legolas said, voice sharp and low, trembling under the weight of those tears remaining unshed. “I’m freaking out.” Immediately, a switch flipped in Thranduil, and he turned to his son with concern.

“What do you need?” Thranduil’s voice was cool and gentle.

Legolas shrugged helplessly and took a final deep swig, finishing off the bottle, which clinked when he dropped it to the stone path beneath him. “I dunno, weed?”

Thranduil pursed his lips into a disapproving frown as his grip shifted on his own bottle. “I hope you're joking, young man.”

“Yeah. Sure,” was Legolas' noncommittal reply. “Whatever.”

“Seriously, what is it that you need?” Thranduil implored. “You know your nana and I…” Legolas just shook his head softly, more to himself than anything his father was saying. He sighed, as he did any time he wanted to avoid answering questions too difficult and complicated to bear thinking about.

Suddenly, Legolas huffed a small laugh and quietly sang along with the last strains of the song. “You're mine if you want to.” The last word was drawn out, Legolas’ voice wavering in anguish. Thranduil’s heart seized; when had his son become so broken down?

“You know, you already _are_ mine,” Thranduil said with a small fond smile. “You always will be. I’m so proud of you.” He fidgeted with the rough hammock net between his fingers, because he needed something to reach out to touch.

“That means a lot, ada,” Legolas replied, his voice choked. He looked like he was going to say more, but he bit his tongue.

“What?” Thranduil asked in a rush. “What were you going to say?”

Legolas dug his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “I was actually serious about the weed thing.” Thranduil shot up onto a sitting position, nearly toppling out of the hammock, though careful not to drop the bottle of expensive wine. He watched in shock as his son pulled out a lighter and a baggie with three joints rolled tight inside.

“ _Legolas_! You'd bring pipeweed into my house…” The man seethed with dawning outrage.

Legolas scoffed. “‘Pipeweed?’ What are you, my _grandfather_? No one calls it that anymore.” Thranduil watched because it was the only thing he really could do. He took another swig of wine and tried to clear his swimming thoughts. He leaned back on the hammock and glanced balefully at Legolas as the boy moistened the end of the joint with a clever flick of the tongue. A bubble rose in the man’s chest.

“It's illegal, Legolas.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and continued what he was doing. “It shouldn’t be,” he retorted. He flicked the lighter and lit the joint with a deep inhale. Thranduil ground his teeth in impotent rage, but he could already see that this was a pointless battle to fight with his headstrong son. Thranduil relaxed further back into the hammock with a very pointed, disapproving, and dramatic sigh. 

He took another quick swig of priceless wine to fortify himself, before he griped, “I sometimes think I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Welcome to the club.” Legolas smiled bitterly before he puffed the joint deeply, held his breath for a moment, and released a thin cloud up into the warm evening air. “You've really never tried weed?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It's good,” Legolas said in a singsong voice, waving the joint in his father’s direction.

“I'm sure it is.”

The two sat in quiet, Thranduil keeping his righteous silence and Legolas’ body growing too heavy to desire much conversation. At length, the record ended, and Legolas slid away from the hammock, kneeling before the stack of records on the low table. While the two had been hanging out, total darkness had slowly crept over them, and Legolas squinted in the bright starlight filtering in through the greenhouse roof. The space was lit with an ethereal bluish glow, and Thranduil thought his son looked like some Vala or other as he slotted in the next record. Thranduil was jarred to breathlessness by his son’s bright eyes when the boy turned to ask, “You like Sigur Rós?”

“Haven't heard of them,” Thranduil answered.

The record began to turn, and Legolas grew dizzy looking at it. “It's hot out here,” he said, sliding down to lay on his back on the cool, stone path. “We’re in the middle of autumn, and it’s fucking hot out still.” Thranduil brought his legs up onto the hammock, and the two laid there amongst the ferns and shrubs and late autumn flowers, languishing in the hazy groan of guitar fuzz and crystalline, alien vocals.

“What is she saying?” Thranduil asked after a while, glancing down to the ground where his son lay.

“It's a he,” Legolas whispered, staring up through the high ceiling. “And I have no idea. I don't speak the language.”

“Sounds like 'it's you,'” he began singing along, his voice rich.

“Maybe so.” Legolas drew in another deep puff of his joint and crawled up into a sitting position next to the record player, his knees drawn up against his chest. He glanced over at his father with heavy eyes. “I’m having a kind of problem with Meludir.”

Thranduil shifted for a moment, heart pounding sluggishly with nerves and wine. His pulse stuttered when he asked, “Regarding… you and me?”

Legolas sighed, his head drooping down to rest on the tops of his knees. “No,” he said. “We, uh… we still haven’t had sex.” Thranduil’s stomach knotted in a distinctly different way at the revelation, and he swallowed hard, but he didn’t say anything in response. “I think he doesn’t want me.”

“Of course he wants you,” Thranduil sighed immediately. “How could he not?” 

“Well, if he does, he has a funny way of showing it.”

“Maybe he’s scared,” Thranduil said quietly. He felt his palms grow sweaty. “Of how much he wants you.” Legolas attention snapped to Thranduil, but Thranduil studiously trained his eyes to the ceiling above. He took a long drink from the bottle, the tendons in his throat jumping with each swallow. Legolas couldn’t stop staring.

“And why would that scare him?” Legolas rasped, head swimming with weed and growing, terrifying revelation.

“Because of the things people would say,” Thranduil breathed. “Because it goes against centuries of taboo. Because…” Legolas’ head was spinning with meanings both express and implied.

“He shouldn’t be scared,” Legolas whispered, keyed into the lines of his father’s form. “If he wants me… I want him, too.” Thranduil lay rigid, heat rising up his collar, staring at the translucent ceiling of the greenhouse, body taut as an bowstring. “He could just… have me… right now, if he wanted to.”

“Maybe he needs you to make the first move,” Thranduil rasped. “So that he knows it’s okay.” Legolas’ head spun, and what his father was saying just wasn’t helping him at all. 

“What if _I’m_ too scared?” Legolas asked, his hands starting to shake. “What if I need him to just… take what he wants? I’d give it so willingly.” Thranduil’s gaze snapped to his son’s finally, and he was nearly toppled with the intensity he found gazing back at him.

“Ion,” he gasped, his breath issuing ragged from his rising and falling chest. 

“Adar,” Legolas purred. In the space of a heartbeat, Thranduil returned his gaze to the ceiling above them, drinking deeply from his wine. At length, Legolas drew in a shaky puff of the joint. He waved it over towards Thranduil.

“You sure you don't want some of this? You could just try it.”

Thranduil was quiet for a while, and Legolas had assumed that he wouldn't get an answer, when his father finally said, “Fuck it, yeah, alright.” He reached down to pluck the joint from Legolas' fingers, pointedly ignoring his son's knowing smile. “No one finds out about this.” Legolas smirked. Thranduil took a shallow puff and started coughing. “Ugh, Eru. It's like breathing in a burning wet dog.” Legolas chuckled, grateful for the comedic reprieve. “I don't feel anything.”

“You have to wait,” the youth said, pulling himself into a standing position. “Budge over. The ground's too hard. I’m not comfortable.” Thranduil began to sit up, but Legolas stopped him with a firm palm planted against the man’s chest. “No, just budge over. We can both lay down.”

“It'll break.”

“It won't,” he said, sliding in next to his father. Thranduil shifted, his figure stiff in protest.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, beginning to rise again. “I should be going inside anyway.” Legolas grabbed his wrist with a firm hand when the man tried to sit up.

“She’ll smell the weed on you,” he whispered. “You’ll be a dead man.” Thranduil paused like a deer caught in headlights, but he eventually sighed and slid back down next to his son. The hammock really was too narrow, but Legolas wound his arm over Thranduil’s chest and tucked their ankles together. He took the joint back from his father and inhaled, then rested his head on Thranduil's shoulder, burrowing into his old, familiar cocoon. “I feel like I'm little again.”

“Want ada to read you a bedtime story?” Thranduil asked softly, absently stroking the hair at his son's temple. Legolas sighed. The body beneath his was broad and warm, almost hot to the touch in the deep darkness of the room. The feeling of tender fingertips through his hair soothed him into a groggy semi-awareness. After a while, he felt his father’s hand suddenly falter in the depths of his hair. “Oh, it just…”

“Are you feeling it now?” Legolas asked with a small smile.

“Mmhmm.”

“And?”

Thranduil's eyes fluttered shut. He breathed deeply. “I feel... dizzy. Heavy. But really, really good.” Legolas snuggled up closer to his father, basking in the heat and starlight surrounding them. He felt his father sigh deeply. “Your mother’s going to kill me.”

“Stop. You’re harshing my buzz.” Legolas finished the joint and pinched it out on the ground, then snuggled back into the nook under his ada's armpit. He lay there, half asleep, breathing the rich scent of musk and earth and heady, riotous flowers, his ada's hair tickling the tip of his nose. He lazily shifted his position, looking up at the tranquil, handsome face next to his, illuminated in a patch of moonlight, the dark lashes resting against strong cheekbones, plush lips damp and red with wine.

At length, Thranduil realized he was being watched, and he looked down at his son's open face. He was taken aback by the anguish and sorrow in the boy's eyes. “What is it, ion nin?” Legolas swallowed hard, but he said nothing. The emotion grew in intensity, sharpening into a look of soul-deep longing. Thranduil finally saw the look for what it was: pining.

A shock of panic flared through him. Legolas heard the clink of a wine bottle against the pavement. Slowly, so slowly, like cold molasses dripping from an overturned jar, Thranduil bent down to press a chaste kiss to Legolas' lips. There could be no harm in that. He’d done it thousands of times before. The youth’s eyes fluttered shut as he took in the gush of warm breath against his mouth, the tender press of damp lips to his own, the curl of sure hands grasping his hip, bare where his shirt had slipped away. Legolas shivered helplessly, even as his body pumped to life with heat and long-waiting need. He lifted his hand to his father’s face and pressed a tiny, reverent kiss against the soft, sweet flesh of his father’s lips. This kiss lingered, grew deeper, was meant for inviting and exploring. Legolas parted his lips and, ever so cautiously, Thranduil swiped the tip of his tongue against Legolas'. He pulled the youth's lithe form against his own, not breaking the kiss, and Legolas grabbed the silky hair at the nape of his father’s neck. His body shaking with gorgeous, slick pleasure, Legolas twisted his hips instinctively against Thranduil’s, and the man groaned against his son’s probing tongue.

Legolas could feel his whole world coming apart, bright shocks of lust shooting through him from the rough, hungry brush of his father's tongue against his lips and tongue and now his neck, and oh _Eru_ , he needed those hands on his sides to cup his aching cock with the same abandon and adoration. He moaned, a high, needy, primal cry that was heavy with his need. 

A heavy, steel curtain suddenly fell down in his conscience, bringing Thranduil crashing miserably back to his senses. He tore himself away from the kiss that had left them both panting and starving for more of something that would never belong to the two of them. He didn't dare to think of what "more" could actually mean for them, for father and son, though it would seem that a moment before, they had been recklessly flying headlong towards it.

“Legolas,” he groaned, his voice turned dark and raw with the black desire coursing through him. Legolas had never heard his father's voice sound like this, so overcome with passion it left Legolas lightheaded. “We should stop this now... before we do something we both deeply regret.” He grasped Legolas’ wrists in his powerful hands. “This isn’t right.”

Legolas wanted to scream, but the shame he knew so clearly and so vividly reared its ugly head, and he nearly sobbed with the shock of what they were doing. Even so, it was all he could do to pull his hips away from Thranduil’s. A horrible weight settled low in his stomach. This was surely going to spoil everything that hadn’t already been destroyed by what started those scant couple of weeks before, if the horrified look on Thranduil’s face told him anything. 

_Of course_ , the man was right, Legolas knew, regardless of how it felt so good to be wrapped up in Thranduil's willowy arms like the scared little child he knew he was and could no longer be. This man was so strong and wise and good. _Father_ , the word echoed through his mind in taunting refrains. Legolas closed his eyes with the agony of it. “Yes, ada. I know.”

“I should never have let it go this far,” he began admonishing himself. “I’m the adult here. I’m the adult.” Legolas wanted to rage against him. He wanted to scream that he was no longer some stupid child, that if his father was so against what was happening, then why was the man still lying entwined with him? He knew the man wouldn’t hear it. Thranduil finally won the battle against his own greed and grudgingly took his hands off his son’s trembling body and gingerly removed himself from the hammock. He turned to leave. With his tall back to Legolas, with not nearly enough space between them, with every fiber of his being, he still struggled to say, “Needless to say, this only happened because we're not in our right minds. This, all of it… it’s repulsive.”

“Yes, ada.” Legolas’ voice wavered as tears welled in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Legolas, if anyone were to _see_...” Thranduil hissed, suddenly whipping around to stare with frantic eyes, quickly losing himself to the heat that still burned dimly in Legolas' own eyes. Thranduil bit the flesh of his own palm to stifle the groan of agony that tore through him. “If your mother… If anyone… I have to- I have to go now.” With that, he turned to leave.

Before he reached the door, Legolas called out softly, half out of his mind now with his father’s humiliating repudiation of the need Legolas had been fighting and denying for so long. “Ada.” The man turned to look at him, chest rising and falling quickly. His face was white. “You're mine if you want to.”

Thranduil’s heart surged, and a glimmer of heat flashed through his flesh once more. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He fled from the guilty, powerful desire that sought to drag him down on top of the boy's willing, pliant body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINE. You guys win. I gave you what you came here for. Well, a taste anyway. Haha. Sorry I'm so cruel.
> 
> Legolas' theme for this chapter is "[Sacrilege](https://youtu.be/jmRI3Ew4BvA)" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
> 
> You can find me [here](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Thank you so much for your feedback. It's a helpful part of the writing process. Not to mention, it really makes my day. :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for what I'm about to do. Free therapy hugs afterwards?

The sun filtered in through the opaque ceiling of the greenhouse, and Legolas woke in the swampy room dripping with sweat and with a head screaming from too much booze. He struggled to remember what day it was. Sunday. It was Sunday morning.

And he had fucked up everything.

Without a word to his parents, he tiptoed through the house, grabbed his backpack, shoes and car keys, and he left the house as quietly as possible. He drove and drove in the glaring morning sun, down the long country roads outside the city, radio blaring Bowie, because it was the only thing that didn’t make him want to just drive his car off a bridge and sink to his watery death. He half wished his car would run out of gas on the tracks, and he’d get hit by an oncoming freight train. Anything would be better than how things were now. It was what he deserved, at any rate.

His nerves were raw with an anxious preponderance of what torment was coming next. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

What the fiery hell had he been thinking last night? How could he come onto his own father like that? A treacherous voice in my mind said that he wanted it, had been wanting it for weeks now. The touch of Thranduil’s lips against his own was not something he ever needed to know, but the memory of it now set his pulse ablaze. It erased any of the childlike memories he’d ever had of the man, and in their place, he only felt a terrible, all-consuming need to finish what they had started that night in that accursed bathroom. He beat his palm against the steering wheel and bellowed a furious sob. His whole world was falling apart, and he was drowning in the injustice of it. No one would understand. Hell, even _he_ didn’t understand, but he knew that there was something fatal growing inside that scared the ever living shit out of him.

But hadn’t his father wanted it, too? Hadn’t he responded? Hadn’t he drunk from his son’s lips like a dying man? Before the wall of propriety had come crashing down, hadn’t Thranduil given himself over to the inevitable? Legolas burned with the agony of his father’s rejection, and he nearly swerved off the road when a moment of clarity descended upon him. The blood left his face when he realized how grievously he’d misread the situation. 

He’d gotten his father drunk. He’d practically drugged the man. Ada was already stressed to his breaking point, and Legolas knew he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d manipulated his father, implanted desires the man could not possibly feel in return. He’d tried to seduce his own father, and he’d been rightly rebuffed. He was wretched and sick and completely unworthy of ada’s love. He took cold comfort in the fact that his sickness sprung from how deeply he didn’t care about the outside world anymore, not when the chaos in his head was so fucking loud all the time. And if he could just have something that made him feel so safe and loved and free… But he couldn’t have that. Shouldn’t want it. Not from Thranduil. It would destroy them both, father and son. 

His tears fell like typhoon rains. He gripped the steering wheel as a pitiful realization struck him: family and friends and school be damned. He had to hide. He had to put a world of distance between himself and the man he’d so selfishly wronged.

He didn’t know where to go. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was driving, just knowing there were paths he could no longer tread. He’d burned those bridges last night, and his stomach knotted with a loss he’d never known. He felt hollow and exhausted, eyes now too tired and ringed with shadow to give way to the tears still aching to be shed. He idled in the parking lot of Lindir’s for a while before he could finally bring himself to kill the engine.

Tauriel>Hey, babe. Lunch at 12 @ the deli?

He looked down at his phone through a pane of tears. He fought to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stayed.

Me>Is 1 okay?

He hated caving like this. He really should still be furious with her. She didn’t deserve his understanding and forgiveness for being such a shitty, selfish friend. He was being weak and needy. He wouldn’t admit how good it felt to still be on her mind, to still have someone who had reason to love him.

Tauriel>OMG yes! No problem!  
Tauriel>It’ll just be so good to see u again  
Tauriel>Can’t wait for u to meet The Boy

He slumped into the record store and flipped through the stacks of old LPs, wishing he could thumb through and dismiss the massive pile of fear and doubt that was stacked up against him. With a jolt, he remembered Meludir.

A wave of guilt came crashing over him a moment later, like a tsunami over a desolate beach. How could he be with Meludir now? The sweet boy didn’t deserve to be roped to someone so damaged and emotionally stunted. Legolas dreaded Meludir’s thoughtful eyes and cloying sweetness right now, those eyes that would see through him instantly and figure out with horror that the boy he’d fallen for was a pervert. No matter how Meludir tried to forgive him for the mistake in the bathroom, no matter how much he got off on playing daddy, if he had the _slightest_ inkling of what Legolas had tried to pull last night, _with his own father_ , Meludir would surely be disgusted. His kind eyes would turn to stone when they fell upon Legolas, if the sweet boy could even bring himself to look at Legolas at all.

With another horrible jolt, Legolas realized he couldn’t return to school. He couldn’t be somewhere that was haunted by the specter of his father. Every hallway, every nook, every classroom, every statue was a threat to his fraying nerves. He’d cash in on his trust fund, drive to some small town where no one could find him, get a job cleaning toilets or something. It would be awful, but it would be better than this.

He praised the Valar that the shop was empty. No surprise, it being Sunday morning. He braced himself against the Sun Ra records and took a shaky breath, desperately ticking through the paths he could take next that led him as far from his father as possible. “Hey, man,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. Legolas turned to see the reedy-looking owner with his long hair forever pulled back into a ponytail and wearing some obscure band shirt. “You don’t look so good.”

Legolas stared at him with red-rimmed eyes, trying to process what the guy had just said. “Yeah, uh, no, I’m just… I’m fine.” Lindir looked unconvinced.

“Okay, well, I pulled some records for you this week, if you’d like to take a look...” He trailed off, still looking at Legolas with unsure eyes. Legolas nodded and followed Lindir to the cash register, where Lindir slipped a short stack of records out from under the register. “Been kind of a shit year for new music.”

Legolas blandly inspected the first record in the stack. “Kind of a shit year in general.”

Lindir huffed a sympathetic laugh and turned to stick tags on a new shipment of records. “You know,” he began casually, “if anything’s bothering you, I’m here to listen.” He glanced back at Legolas with a tight smile. “You kinda remind me of my younger brother, and you know…” Legolas didn’t answer. He just scanned the back artwork on the first record for probably the tenth time. Lindir paused and stared at him helplessly, a hand resting on in a fist on his hip. “Are you in trouble or something?”

Legolas glanced up in alarm. “I hope not,” he said, trying to joke. He gave a half hearted smile before setting the record back down. “Look, Lindir, I appreciate the help, but I just… I gotta go. I’m meeting some friends for lunch.” He turned to leave, but Lindir called out to him.

“Hang on,” he said, quickly going down to the Alternative section of the store, rummaging rapidly before picking out a record and rushing back to Legolas. He thrust the record at the boy. “Here. I don’t know if you have this one yet, but...” Legolas took the album from his hand and looked at the cover.

“ _The Hounds of Love_ ,” Legolas read, throat tightening. He already had a copy, but the earnest empathy in Lindir’s eyes was too much. “I love Kate Bush.”

“Listen to Cloudbusting until you feel better about the world,” Lindir ordered seriously. Legolas began to reach for his wallet, but Lindir waved his hand dismissively. “No, just take it. It’s yours.” Legolas nearly started crying again. He nodded gratefully, not trusting his voice at the moment. Before he reached the door, Lindir called out, “If it’s money you need, you can always work here. I could use the help, you know, and you really know a lot about music, so…”

Legolas smiled, almost genuinely, as he nodded his head and left the shop. He wouldn’t hate that, actually, working in a record shop. Whatever town he ended up in, he could always get a job like that. Life wouldn’t be so bad at all. That decided it, in his eyes. He was leaving after lunch with Tauriel. He owed it to her to say goodbye. He’d run by the dorm now and pick up his stuff, throw it in the back of the car and just disappear after he’d said his goodbyes to Tau.

When he got to where he was going, he’d send his mother a letter without a return address, letting her know he was okay. She could deal with ada. She could deal with informing his professors he’d left. That dealt with his classes. He could probably get an Incomplete in his transcripts since he’d not even taken the midterm yet.

The midterm. _Gimli_.

As much as he disliked the guy, he knew he couldn’t throw him under the bus like that, leaving him without a partner scant days before their project was due.

Me>Hey, it’s Legolas. I got your number from Aragorn.  
Me>I need to tell you something.

Legolas had already driven back to his dorm and had begun to shove his clothes into his suitcase laying open on his bed when Gimli finally responded. 

Gimli>Is everything okay?  
Me>Why wouldn’t it be?  
Gimli>Can’t figure out why the hell you’d be texting me  
Me>Fine. You guessed it. Just wanted to extend a professional courtesy, and let you know that I’m dropping out of my classes

Within seconds, Legolas heard the pounding of footsteps coming down the hallway, moments before his door slammed open and an irate Dwarf filled the door with his considerable frame.

“Like _fuck_ you are,” he growled. Legolas sighed wearily and continued rolling up his clothes.

“I can’t stay, Gimli,” he stated emphatically, cramming a pair of rolled up jeans into the suitcase.

“What the hell happened?” He bellowed. “Did daddy not buy you the sports car you wanted? So you’re just fucking off like some spoiled brat?” Legolas glared at him. “Mahal, how can you be so goddamn selfish?” He still stood in the doorway, chest heaving and face tomato-red. Specks of spit clung to his beard in his fury. “You’re seriously fucking me over, you spoiled little shit! I _knew_ something like this would happen.” Legolas withered where he sat on his messy bed, the Dwarf’s angry words washing over him and ringing sound with painfully uncomfortable truth. “Well? What’s so fucking important that you have to piss off like some weepy little diaper baby?”

And with that, the dam burst and tears flooded Legolas’ cheeks. He balled his fist against his mouth to choke out the sobs, but the weight of all the horrible shit that had been snowballing for weeks finally reached critical mass, and an unstoppable avalanche ripped through him, dragging along with it every ounce of guilt and pain and loss and humiliation and insecurity with it. Gimli shuffled awkwardly in the doorway.

He couldn’t even feel embarrassed that the Dwarf was watching it all come pouring out in front of him, proving Gimli’s accusations of him being a crybaby. A small part of Legolas wanted to shout at Gimli to go away, but when he felt the dip in the mattress next to him and a gruff arm pulling him into a rough side hug, the avalanche of anguish redoubled. He leaned against the tactfully silent Dwarf and sobbed until finally, the tears began to slow, and where once there was unthinkable pain and misery, he only felt a tentative calmness retrofitted to the now cleansed hollow of his chest.

Gimli anxiously handed him a bandana, and Legolas wiped his face with it. Gimli dropped his arm gingerly from Legolas’ shoulders, and he scooted over, giving the Elf some space. He awkwardly tried to think of something to say. “So, you gonna tell me what’s going on? I mean, you’ve got to fix it. Obviously, you can’t just leave school. You have to see how stupid that is. If you try to run away from this, it’s only gonna come back to bite you in the arse.”

Legolas sighed, and the stuttering breath shook his chest. He swallowed his hiccups. “I fucked up something really bad with my father, and I can’t stay here anymore.”

“What, your dad evicted you or something?”

Legolas frowned. “No. He doesn’t know I’m leaving.”

“Dude, come on,” Gimli said, trying to reason with the red-eyed Elf. He hesitated, and when Legolas was clearly not going to speak again, he said, “Whatever you did, just give it some time. He’s family. For better and for worse. Why would you run from the people who love you more than anyone else?”

“It’s not that simple,” Legolas moaned. “I showed him who I really was, and… I can’t stay here anymore.” 

Gimli rubbed his face with his broad hands, smoothing his beard a few times. He hesitated a good, long moment before he grudgingly asked, “Is this- This is a… gay thing… isn’t it?”

“A _gay thing_?” Legolas demanded through gritted teeth.

“Dude, I wouldn’t know,” Gimli defended himself. “I heard that it’s hard to tell your parents that you’re… gay.”

“You don’t have to say it like it’s a curse word,” Legolas spat, turning away from Gimli

“Look, I have no problem with it,” he insisted, thinking better of reaching out to Legolas. “It’s just that I’ve just never had a conversation like this with someone before, so excuse me if I say stupid shit. I don’t mean to be indelicate.”

Legolas flopped back on the bed, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. “It’s not a ‘gay thing,’” he groaned in resignation. “Not exactly, anyway.”

“Look, Legolas,” Gimli said, pausing because he wasn’t sure what he should say next. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. But that man is your father. If he’s anything like my dad, I know he would kill for you. Whatever you think is going on between you, just talk to him. Don’t be a dumbass, and don’t be a coward.” 

Legolas didn’t have the strength to argue. He knew he was being a coward as soon as Gimli said it, probably because it stung so much to hear. “Whatever.”

“Look, I’m gonna be late for work,” Gimli said, “but just think about what I said. Sleep on it. You’ll think of something. You can’t just run away whenever things get hard.” Legolas gritted his teeth, wanting to scream at the impertinent cunt that he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He thought better of it. Gimli rose from the bed and made for the door. “And just, you know, if you need anything…”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Legolas asked point blank, his arm laid over his eyes to block out the world around him.

“I can’t fail Bio,” Gimli mumbled. Legolas sighed in frustration. He heard Gimli hesitating in the doorway. “And you really helped us out with the whole mascot thing. I know you didn’t want to do it. That was pretty decent of you.” He heard Gimli start to leave, but the boy hesitated in the doorway a moment longer before he grumbled, “Sorry I called you a diaper baby.”

 

The deli was still crowded when Legolas ducked inside. Towards the back of the bustling restaurant, he saw Tauriel sitting at a maroon booth, chatting quietly with a bearded guy, their fingers intertwined, lost in each other. His stomach bubbled with nerves for a second, but he steeled his resolve and marched up to the tableside. Tauriel noticed him approach, and she jumped up to greet him with a warm hug, which he was slow to return.

“Legolas,” she said warmly, too enthusiastic, her eyes gauging Legolas too closely. “This is Kili.” Kili nodded at Legolas. Legolas nodded back at him and sat down across from the couple. Tauriel’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two nervously. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Legolas,” Kili said tersely. “Tauriel’s always talking about you.” Legolas smirked.

“Funny, she hasn’t mentioned a thing about you,” Legolas replied lightly. Kili bristled at his flippant tone. “Had to find out from a third party that you’re from _Erebor_.”

“You seem to have a problem with that,” Kili noted, his face schooled in neutrality.

“Not at all,” Legolas replied sardonically. Kili’s lips tightened, and the two abruptly stopped talking.

Hating the silence, Tauriel babbled, “Kili’s actually in the Army. He’s in officer training school. He’ll be following in the footsteps of his Uncle Thorin hopefully. Old military family, isn’t that right, Ki?”

“Yeah,” Kili answered tersely, clearly discomfited by their guest. He squeezed her hand tighter.

“And of course, as he said, I’ve told Kili all about you, Legolas,” she continued. “Legolas wants to be a Marine Biologist eventually. He loves the sea. Practically a fish himself.” What was clearly meant to be a joke fell flat. Kili, to his credit, at least tried to smile. “Legolas, tell Kili about the sailboat you and Círdan built this summer.”

He sighed impatiently. “I built a sailboat with a friend of my father’s. It happened this summer.” Tauriel couldn’t control the glare now beaming at her truculent friend. Kili shuffled in his seat before motioning to rise.

“Gotta run to the restroom,” he grumbled, shimmying past Tauriel as he practically stomped away from them. Immediately, Tauriel rounded on Legolas.

“What the hell is your problem?” She demanded.

“You just weren’t going to mention that you’re dating a fucking _Dwarf_?” He hissed.

“No, as a matter of fact.”

“And you didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know what you’re like,” she bit.

“Oh, and how’s that, then?” He barked.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Legolas,” she said, her hands clenched in fists at her side. She was practically panting with poorly concealed anger. “I know you have some stupid fucking chip on your shoulder about Dwarves, but Kili has _never_ treated me with such disrespect and selfishness as you have.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you vindictive asshole,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from raising. “I just wanted you to meet him so that you’d get off my back for half a second and just let me be happy.”

“I’m stopping you from being happy?” He demanded, nearly shouting. Half the deli customers paused to see what the commotion was all about. “What a load of horseshit!”

“Legolas, you’re causing a scene,” she hissed. “And yeah, while we’re on the subject, you’re the most self-centered, spoiled little jag I’ve ever met. I’ve bent over backwards time and again to be a good friend to you, and at best, you thank me with total obliviousness and, at worst, with astounding ungratefulness.”

“Okay, so, I’m supposed to just fall at your feet for just doing what friends are supposed to fucking do?” He spat at her, his lip curling in a snarl. “What about how you’ve been blowing me off, like, every fucking time lately?”

“You really don’t fucking get it, do you?” She asked, all incredulity and resignation. “It’s almost impossible to be your friend these days.”

“Yeah?” He snapped. “Then why do you hang around? Everyone else has fucked off, so why don’t you?”

She paused, slunk tiredly back against the booth seat. “I honestly don’t know anymore. Maybe I’m just a masochist.”

He stared at her, drawing steadying breaths. Finally, he said, “Well, if that’s how really feel, then maybe I should just be the one to fuck off this time.” She started to speak, but he stood, waving his hand to silence her. “And when you’re done sucking Dwarf cock and you come crawling back, I won’t be there for you.”

He turned to leave. She called out after him. “Legolas, come back here right now. We’re not done talking.”

He flashed her a rude hand gesture and snarled, “Fuck. You.” The other customers in the deli flinched when he slammed the door behind him. Her face burned in humiliation.

When he’d closed his car door, he screamed, beating his fists on the steering wheel. He tore at his pockets and yanked his phone out.

Me>We need to break up.

The response was almost immediate.

Meludir>Legolas, what’s wrong? Are you okay?

Fuck Meludir for being so calm, for trying to be understanding. Fuck him.

Me>I can’t be with you. I’m not what you need.  
Meludir>Where are you? Can we talk in person.  
Me>I’m leaving. I’m not coming back.  
Meludir>What the hell happened? Are you at the dorm? I can be there in fifteen minutes.  
Me>Are you blind or just fucking stupid? I said I’m breaking up with you.  
Meludir>I don’t know what to say.  
Me>Goodbye would work.  
Meludir>Is this because we haven’t fucked yet? Elbereth, had I known how important it was to you…

Legolas bit back a painful sob as tears began to stain his cheeks.

Me>I just realized that dating a Silvan is below my station, and I can do so much better than you.  
Me>Having you as a boyfriend is an embarrassment.  
Me>I just needed a warm hole.

He hated himself more and more with each character he typed. Lying to Meludir should have been easier than coming clean about ada, so why did this hurt so much? He bitterly swore to himself that this was all for the best. It would be easier for them both in the long run, rather than Meludir finding out down the line that his beloved fiancé or whatever was a disgusting pervert. A minute passed without reply. “Answer me, dammit.” He ducked down when he noticed Tauriel and Kili leaving the deli, her sobbing in the Dwarf’s embrace, a murderous rage etched into his face. Legolas thanked the Valar that neither noticed him as they left.

Meludir>Please don’t speak to me ever again.  
Me>It would be my pleasure.

He collapsed against the steering wheel as sobs wracked his body. His hands shook and snot ran from his nose, and he just didn’t give a damn anymore. There were two suitcases, a record player and a box of vinyls in the boot of his car. He struggled to slide the key into the ignition, but eventually, his car roared to life, and he tore out of the parking lot as fast as he could. He revved onto the highway and swerved through traffic, gunning the engine as fast as it would go, screaming with self-hatred and bitter loss. The cars around him blared their horns, but he didn’t care. He just sped faster and faster and faster.

In an instant, the world came grinding nearly to a halt as he lost control of the wheel. It seemed to move of its own accord in his hands. He was aware of very little, just the pounding of blood in his ears and the horizon in front of him spinning, spinning, spinning, ground and sky switching places over and over, until all that was left was a concrete barrier and a rain of glass exploding in his face. He distantly registered the blooming of blood from somewhere and exquisite pain before his whole existence went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.
> 
> Legolas's theme: "[DLZ](https://youtu.be/AhBK4P1ejWE)" by TV on the Radio


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZcFc1ZEV5T005amM)'s the den.
> 
> And [this](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZZnFIM05YeUNnNFE) is Thranduil's mother.
> 
> Sorry I'm a couple of days late. I think the wait will prove worth it.

Consciousness returned to him slowly.

The first sensation to poke through the cotton haze was a slow, steady buzz. It seemed so far in the distance, but Legolas focused with all his might until the source of the noise grew clearer. Fluorescent lights.

His bed felt strange. His limbs were too heavy and fuzzy to lift, but he struggled fiercely to blink open his eyes, and the exertion made his head spin. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, but it was a monumental task to turn his head to take in more of his surroundings. Legolas’ heart began pounding sluggishly as panic began to set it.

He screwed all his strength to croak a tiny, “Hello?” 

A sharp intake of breath preceded a shocked, “You’re awake.”

_Ada_. His skin tingled as he felt his father’s warm, large hands envelop his own. Legolas finally felt able to move, ever so slightly, though his muscles screamed at the imposition. His saw his father now, red eyes sunken above hollow cheeks, hair limp, clothes rumpled, awkwardly slumped in an ugly, mauve vinyl arm chair. The bright afternoon light streaming in through the window hurt his eyes. Legolas rasped, “Is this the hospital?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows knit as he nodded, bringing Legolas’ hand to his dry, cracked lips. A sigh shuddered through the man, his eyes reddening as he fought the quivering that followed. “You’re awake,” he sighed again weakly. It wasn’t an observation, so much as a confirmation of life, relief down to the man’s very bones. Legolas’ vision swam.

“I was asleep?” He whispered dumbly, entranced by the sensation of the rough skin brushing against his knuckles.

“You were in a car wreck,” he rasped. His father’s breaths came rapidly. “Don’t you remember?”

“When?”

“Two days ago.” His grip was tight on Legolas’ hand. Legolas felt the strange urge to wash his father’s hair.

“Is my car okay?”

His father almost laughed, but it immediately deteriorated into a spasm meant to hold back tears. “I’m afraid not,” he choked out, “but I’ll buy you a new one, my love.” Legolas’ chest tingled at the epithet. As his head slowly cleared, it quickly became clear that something was terribly wrong. He craned his face down to look at his body, eyes glancing over the IV sticking out of his hand and the bits of light bandaging on his arm. His heart stuttered in his chest as he took in the sight lain before him. His entire leg was swathed in a white plaster cast. His upper thigh was wrapped in thick gauze, and he realized his couldn’t feel anything in his toes.

“Oh my god,” he moaned softly, his eyes filling with tears. Thranduil wrung his hands, battling the urge to reach out and embrace his son.

“Please don’t cry, Legolas,” he begged, squeezing the boy’s hand so hard it nearly bruised. “It’s just a cast and a few stitches. Everything’s going to be okay. The surgeons did a great job patching you up.”

“ _Surgeons_?” He croaked, face having gone paler than it was already. His heart twisted in fear, and he just about sobbed, “Where’s Nana?”

“Getting coffee,” he answered. “She’ll be right back.” Thranduil chewed his lower lip. “The, uh… The surgeons had to reattach a few veins in your thigh. It was a pretty clean slice. They said you got lucky.”

“Lucky,” Legolas echoed hollowly.

“When did he wake up, Thranduil?” Sabariel demanded as she swung the door open with her hip. “Did you call a nurse?” He shook his head. She rushed to her son’s relatively uninjured side, shoving the two steaming cups of coffee into her husband’s hands as she shooed him out of the way. She punched the call button for the nurse before falling to her knees at his bedside and gingerly grasped the hand Thranduil had been itching to hold moments before. “How you feeling, Peg Leg?”

His heart surged with relief as she waited patiently for him to form an answer. “Don’t feel much of anything,” he rasped. She rose and began to adjust his pillows and smooth his hair with teary eyes.

“That’s the morphine talking, dear,” she answered, her voice trembling nearly as much as her hands. “Please, tell me what I can get you. Do you want something to eat? Some water?” 

“Nothing yet,” he whispered. “Still trying to figure out what the hell is going on.” She kissed his forehead in a helpless kind of way and looked down worriedly at her son. The family remained in silence a long, heavy moment, interrupted by a nurse bustling into the room. Sabariel finally sighed shallowly and squeezed into the chair next to her husband. He obliged her. 

“Finally up, Mr. Thranduilion?” The nurse asked brightly as he began to take Legolas’ vitals, his touch perfunctory and practiced. “On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”

“Zero?” He answered.

“Excellent,” the nurse replied. “Well, we’re relieved to see you up. I’ll send for the doctor to come take a look at you ASAP.” Turning to mother and father, the nurse ordered, “See that he doesn’t become agitated.” Sabariel nodded quickly, and the nurse turned to leave. Immediately, she grabbed Legolas’ hand again.

“I was away on business when I got the call. I’m so sorry. I got here as quickly as I could,” she whispered, her forehead wrinkled with self-recrimination. “Your father was here by your side the whole time.” She looked up at the man sitting next to her, and for the first time in months, she gave him a tender, grateful smile. “I don’t think he’s slept a wink.”

“Well, I can sleep now,” he said sheepishly, kissing her temple softly. Legolas’ stomach flipped, and he immediately felt a wave of dizziness from the drugs coursing through his bloodstream.

“Uncle Elrond and Aunt Celebrían are in the waiting room with Granny,” she continued. Thranduil rolled his eyes as he blew on his coffee and took a tentative sip. “They flew in yesterday. Grandma and Grandpa are flying in tonight. The cousins are still in school. They can’t make it until after midterms.” Her eyes lit up suddenly, and she said, “Oh, I should go tell them you’re awake. They’ll want to see you.”

“Now, sweetheart, you know the doctor said only two visitors at a time,” Thranduil said seriously. It went unspoken, though completely understood, that he wouldn’t be budging anytime soon, so his wife’s doting relations could just wait. Almost affectionately, though, he added, “Between the three of us, I suspect it’s because Elrond won’t leave the doctors and nurses alone. Thinks just because he runs a private practice back home...” 

Sabariel gratefully took the other cup of coffee from him as she said with a reluctant smile, “Oh, don’t be so harsh on him. He thinks he’s helping. We’ve all been so worried.” She took a deep sip, and it warmed her. “Right. I’ll be back. Just letting them know you’re awake, baby.”

When she left, father and son fell into silence again. A sinking feeling weighed on Legolas’ chest as he looked at the withered man before him. His father should never look so defeated. This was all Legolas’ fault. “Ada, I’m-”

“Don’t.” 

The word came forth on a wave of shaky resolve. Thranduil glared at his coffee cup and breathed evenly. He finally met his son’s stricken gaze. “Ada, I’m sorry.” Thranduil’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sucked in another fortifying breath.

“Please, stop,” he begged. “This isn’t a conversation I can have right now.” He took another sip of coffee and barely managed to swallow it around the lump in his throat. Then, softly, so soft that Legolas almost couldn’t hear it, “I thought I’d lost you.” The man’s shoulders dropped as he braced himself against his own knees, the coffee cup cradled between his elegant hands. Trying to smile, he halfheartedly said, “You’re going to be furious, but they had to cut your jeans off. I know they were your favorite pair.”

Giddy on morphine and vestigial traces of panic, Legolas whispered, heart stammeringly wildly, “Kiss me.”

“I told them to try to salvage them,” he yammered on, ignoring the boy, “but I’m not convinced they even tried to.”

“Ada.”

“No.” The man’s response was quiet but absolute.

“ _Please_.” 

Thranduil’s head jerked back up, a miserable grimace twisting his features. “Please, don’t ask me for that. I’m too weak already.” Legolas blinked back tears, the rejection fitting seamlessly hand in hand with staggering regret. Thranduil shook his head sadly.

“Please.” One last, needy whisper. 

His stared at his son, face blank. Legolas looked so fragile and impermanent lying there, hooked up to the blinking machines that surrounded them. Thranduil broke. Hating himself, he rested his cup in between the flowers and cards on the side table next to him and rose. He rested his hands on the rail of the bed and leaned down. Legolas closed his eyes as his pulse picked up a sluggish rhythm in his numb body. Thranduil pressed a soft kiss against the boy’s cool forehead. Legolas whined against his will. He gripped his father’s wrinkled shirt collar and plead, “Not like that.”

Thranduil gently placed his hands on either side of Legolas’ face and whispered, “Don’t you ever do this to me again.” His lips found Legolas’ in a tender, almost sweet kiss. He pulled away as though it were the hardest thing he’d ever done. “You almost died,” he breathed, the scent of coffee and a bitter hint of whiskey on his hot, damp breath filling Legolas’ senses. Legolas pulled him back for another kiss, this time hungry, possessive, breathtaking. Thranduil’s knees nearly buckled from the unexpected, headying wave of emotion that overtook him.

“Ada, I’m-”

“Don’t,” he warned again, prying Legolas’ hand from his shirt collar. “And please don’t ask me to kiss you again. I can’t do this, not with _you_.” The shame of dismissal licked hot up Legolas’ cheeks. The door creaked open, and Sabariel walked in with a guilty expression.

“I know I said I’d only give them the news, but-”

Before she could finish the statement, Legolas’ ersatz aunt and uncle came flooding through the door, sighs of relief as they saw him sitting awake in bed, apparently well but for the medical apparati he was encased in. They flanked him on both sides of the bed and touched his shoulder, his face, his hair in reassuring gestures of affection.

“You had us so worried, angel,” Aunt Celebrían said.

“I kept telling those idiot nurses that they should be dosing you with Propofol instead,” uncle Elrond growled, “but they just kept insisting they knew what they were doing.” He tsked. “Morphine! Unbelievable.”

“Arwen and the twins send their best wishes for a speedy recovery,” aunt Celebrían said. “They really wanted to be here.”

“No, I understand,” Legolas replied weakly. “I’m sorry you guys had to fly all the way out here.” Uncle Elrond shushed him.

“Imladris will still be there when we get back,” he assured the boy. “The last thing we want is for you to worry about us. We just need you to rest and get better as soon as you can.” Grumbling again, he said, “It’d be a lot faster if they’d just given you Propofol like I said.”

A short, squat orderly with an intricately braided beard appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, an arch expression on her brow. “I swear to Mahal,” she chastised, “you people really don’t understand the phrase ‘two guest limit.’ Do I have to call security? _Again_?” With distinctly hangdog expressions and parting shoulder squeezes, both aunt and uncle retreated, but as they reached the door, Elrond turned on the orderly.

“Now, let’s talk about getting him home today,” he began, and the woman gave a long-suffering sigh. “There’s no reason to keep him here now that he’s awake.”

“We’ll talk about that in the waiting room,” she commanded as she pulled the door behind them.

Sabariel rummaged through a pile of things on the chair in the far corner of the room, finally pulling a thin blanket from the mess. She carefully spread it over her son and tucked the edges in around him. He smiled at her. “Thanks, Nana.”

“I texted Tauriel and Gandalf that you’re awake,” she said. “The boys from your dorm have all been in to see you. He’s wrangling them for me.”

“Tauriel came?” He croaked. Sabariel looked at him quizzically.

“Of course, she came. A couple times,” the woman answered. “And your friend... Gimli, I think was his name… He’s been here a few times. He brought you those balloons.” She gestured to the corner behind the bed. He wanted to inform her that the Dwarf wasn’t his friend, but he was too tired to argue. He bit his lip to fight the rising tears.

“And Meludir?” He whispered. Her eyes grew tender as she looked at him. Torn, she just stared at her hands. She didn’t respond. Legolas couldn’t say he was surprised. “Where’s my phone? I need some music.” She glanced ruefully at Thranduil. He cleared his throat.

“It’s gone,” he said in a voice of regret. Legolas nodded miserably.

“I had some records in the boot,” he said hopefully. Thranduil just shook his head.

“Your car was completely totaled,” his mother said with a dark tremor. “There were four other cars…” Legolas’ stomach dropped. He was going to vomit. She started crying, and Thranduil pulled her into a firm embrace.

“Did anyone…?” He gasped with a feeling of horrific dread.

“Just a few scratches,” Thranduil murmured. “Nothing a bit of salve and plasters can’t fix. Insurance will cover the rest.” Suddenly, a fierce anger fell over Sabariel’s stricken face.

“Just what the hell were you thinking?” She cried. “The police reports, Legolas… Y-you were driving like a damn fool! Swerving like you were drunk… How could you be so-”

“Sab!” Thranduil hissed as Legolas began weeping. “Not now!”

“Thranduil-”

“Take a walk!” He looked at her evenly, imploring. She shoved herself upright and stalked out of the room, pulling the door softly behind her. Legolas wiped furiously at the tears staining his cheeks. Thranduil glowered at nothing in particular.

“Thank-”

“You were running away.” The statement fell like a judge’s gavel.

“No, I wasn’t,” he argued weakly.

“I saw the police reports, too, Legolas,” he said gravely. “You were packed for a really fucking long vacation.” He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes.

“I was just going to stay at a friend’s for a few days,” he mumbled.

“That’s not what Gloin’s boy told me.”

“That _fucking_ tattletale,” Legolas hissed.

“Why hasn’t Meludir come to see you?” He abruptly demanded. Legolas leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

“Why do you _think_?” Legolas sobbed.

“You dumped him,” Thranduil said. It wasn’t a question. “Why?” Legolas sighed and turned his head to glare at his father.

“How could I be with anyone when I want nothing more than to-”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence,” he growled. “I won’t hear it.”

“Fine,” Legolas said, resigned. “You won’t hear it, but you know what I was going to say anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Thranduil had nothing to say in response. With a malicious bark of laughter, “It must come as such good news. He’s free for you to deflower now!” Thranduil rose from his seat and stood over his son with a fierce glower.

“Green is such an ugly color on you,” he whispered viperishly.

“You think this is jealousy?” Legolas laughed. “If you fucked him, it would make hating you that much easier.” 

“How many times do you need me to tell you that I don’t want your silly little boyfriend?”

“No, I know what you want,” Legolas gloated. “It’s written all over your face.” Thranduil sank his fingers into Legolas’ hair, his hand forming a tight grip.

“You spoiled, mannerless, fucking brat,” he spat. “Where did I go wrong with you?” A high whine sounded from the back of Legolas’ throat. 

“Do it again,” he whispered desperately, and then Thranduil’s lips felt so good on his again, teasing and drinking each sigh that they met. He pulled away far too soon and practically threw himself back into his chair.

“Godammit, Legolas,” he cried, bringing a shaking hand to cover his face. “Why can’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?” Legolas had no answer. He hated what he wanted. He hated it as much as he needed it. He felt naked, vulnerable now that the truth lay exposed before his father. A long silence filled the space between them.

“My leg’s starting to hurt,” he softly said.

Immediately, Thranduil reached for the call button for the nurses’ station. Within a minute, a nurse filed into the room. As she adjusted the flow of morphine, Legolas slowly blinked back into a deep sleep.

When he woke a few hours later, it was dark outside. The buzz of low conversation filled his head, and he could just barely make out what the man in the white coat was saying. “...reason to keep him any longer but-”

“I’ve been saying that since noon,” Uncle Elrond interjected. The doctor sighed deeply.

“Didn’t I ask you to wait in the lobby?” The doctor asked the man pointedly. Legolas watched the group of his family practically bearing down on the doctor. “We can discharge him tonight, but if he-”

“Then why the hell are you dragging your feet?” Sabariel asked softly. The doctor sighed again. “We want him home.”

“I’ll fill in the dismissal form now,” the harried man said with a shake of the head as he made a hasty exit.

“I’ll go pull the rental ‘round the back,” Elrond offered. “Celebrían can grab a wheelchair.” The whole group scrambled to make preparations, and Legolas watched them silently from the bed. He only then noticed his grandmother snoozing in one of the chairs in the corner of the room. Thranduil gently shook her awake.

“Naneth,” he whispered softly, “It’s time to go.” She jolted awake, instinctively glancing over to the hospital bed and her injured grandson. She nearly leapt to her feet and bustled over to Legolas.

“Hey, there, Scout,” she said in her gruff voice. “Glad ya didn’t die. Was pretty touch and go there for a while.”

“What, and never get to taste your lembas again?” He said affectionately. She tousled his hair and gave him a light punch to the bicep.

“I made you fucking heaps of lembas,” she whispered conspiratorially, “though don’t tell your ada or he’ll eat it all, the selfish cow.” Thranduil gave the pair a withering glare. Sabariel laughed as she shoved their various sweaters and reading books and toiletries into a large tote bag.

“You two are always ganging up on him!” She tittered. “It’s hardly fair!”

“Yeah, well, I like Legolas more,” the woman bluntly said. “He always remembers to call.” She looked pointedly at her son, and he sighed.

“I call you once a week, naneth,” Thranduil groaned. “Sometimes more.”

“Still…” She said, but she didn’t elaborate. Celebrían appeared in the doorway with a wheelchair and two nurses, and the group set about transferring Legolas to the chair, down the hallway, to the waiting SUV outside. The drive home seemed shorter than the walk from the garage to the grand sofa in the den.

Uncle Elrond and Thranduil helped the injured boy hobble to the sofa as Sabariel scrambled to switch on the floor lamp next to the far glass wall. Worriedly, she called, “Be mindful of his stitches!” She immediately began fluffing and fussing with the green and coral cushions on the sofa as Legolas allowed the men to lift his now throbbing leg to a comfortable resting position. 

Shortly after he’d gotten settled, his grandmother came in with a tray of two lembas triangles and a hot cup of tea. “Your mum’s just ordering a take-away for dinner now,” she said in her warm, crackly voice, “but I figured you could get started sooner.” He took the tray happily and wolfed down the bread.

“Nana’ll be mad if I spoil my supper,” he joked, wiping the crumbs from his lips.

The woman shrugged. “Your gran ain’t no snitch, boy.” He snorted into his tea. She smiled at him fondly for a while, ruffled his hair, then turned to leave. “I’d best go see if I can help with anything.”

He heard his uncle calling from the hall, “Galadriel and Celeborn just pulled up, Sab!” There was a commotion at the entry as the newcomers were greeted and helped inside. Legolas struggled to sit back up when his adoptive grandparents entered the room, all worried smiles and open arms.

“Legolas,” Galadriel sighed, wrapping the boy’s shoulders in a cool embrace. “You can’t know how relieved we are to see you!” Celeborn stood looking over the boy, pressing his hand to his heart when Legolas greeted him.

“Sorry I scared you,” he said weakly.

“Nonsense,” Celeborn said as Galadriel rose to stand next to him. She nudged her husband’s arm and gestured to the plastic bag in his hand. “Oh! Your father mentioned that your phone got smashed. We picked one up in duty free.” He handed Legolas the bag.

“Grandpa, Grandma...” He said as he tore open the packaging. “Thank you so much.” 

“Just don’t let there be a repeat of what happened to the old one,” she said with a knowing smile. He looked up at her sheepishly.

Sabariel appeared around the corner, leaning in to catch her parents’ attention. “Naneth, adar, we’re going to let him rest until dinner. Would you like to join us in the living room?” They both nodded, and Galadriel bent to press a soft kiss to Legolas’ forehead.

“Sleep tight, Legolas,” she said as they turned to follow Sabariel to the livingroom. Their quiet chatter echoed down the hallway, and Legolas slowly drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but a faint sound jerked him from his rest. He opened his eyes to take in the shadowy image of his father bending to place a tray with a glass of water and a couple pills onto the glass coffee table.

“Ada,” he whispered. The man jerked.

“Some pain medicine,” he explained, not looking at his son. “Figured you might be needing some soon. Are you hungry?”

“No, sir,” Legolas answered quietly. Without thinking, he reached a hand up to graze his fingers against his father’s. “Thank you.” Thranduil pulled away and turned to leave.

“We ordered some Chinese,” he said stiffly. “Be sure to call when you feel like eating.” Legolas wanted the man to stay, to pillow Legolas’ head on his lap, to make him feel less alone.

“Ada-”

“I’m going to bed,” he interrupted. “Your mother and everyone will be up for a while, so…” He cut a quick retreat. Legolas fought the urge to weep.

 

The next morning came swiftly, the bright morning light glaring through the massive wall of pure glass. Legolas’ neck was sore, and he stretched to work the kink out. Someone had draped a blanket over him in the night, but it was now too hot, and he wiggled it off onto the floor. He heard footsteps approaching in the hallway, but the steps froze just shy of reaching the den, and he overheard his parents having a muted argument.

“I just don’t understand why it is, all of a sudden, that you can’t stand being in the same room as your son,” his mother hissed. “There’ll come a time to punish him for what he’s done, but now is not the time.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thranduil practically growled.

“Don’t I? You haven’t so much as looked at him since we brought him home.”

“That’s patently untrue.”

“Look, can you please just do this for me?” She wheedled. “I’m only taking them to see the new exhibit. We’ll only be gone two hours, tops.” Silence fell for a moment.

“Fine,” Thranduil finally replied, “but you shouldn’t stay gone too long. I’m sure Legolas wants you all here.”

“Thank you,” she said pointedly. Legolas could hear her car keys clink. “When he wakes, make sure he takes his pain meds.”

“He’s not a child, Sab,” Thranduil growled. “He can decide if he wants the meds or not.” Legolas couldn’t hear her response as her footsteps faded into another part of the house. “Don’t forget to pick up some crutches on the way back!” Legolas heard a floorboard creak in the hall, and he turned his head to see his father standing there, just looking at him, face blank.

“Good morning, ada,” Legolas said breathily. Thranduil lowered his head and turned to leave. The urge to cry had become almost impossible to resist. He lay on the sofa, immobile as the sound of his family leaving ricocheted down the hall. 

At length, Legolas grew antsy, bored, lonely. He called out, “Ada!” A few long moments later, he heard his father’s reluctant approach. The man stood in the hallway again, not saying anything, just staring blankly. Legolas whispered, “Ada.”

“Well?” The man demanded.

“The sofa’s uncomfortable,” he answered. “I want to lay in my bed.”

“Your bed is upstairs,” the man said slowly, as though Legolas were some kind of halfwit. “You’re not able to go upstairs.” Legolas shifted into a sitting position.

“Ada, please,” he whined. The man sighed deeply, a dam breaking in his chest.

“Come on,” he said gently, as he went to scoop Legolas up from under the shoulders. Legolas rose gingerly and leaned against his father for support. “You can sleep in my bed.” The two hobbled down the hallway to his parents’ bedroom. Legolas couldn’t stop himself from deeply breathing the scent of his father’s hair as Thranduil laid the boy down with strong, steady arms. Legolas grasped the man’s forearms before he could pull away.

“Stay,” he begged.

“No.”

Legolas grasped the man’s shirt and pulled him down for a savage kiss. “Yes.” Thranduil braced himself against the mattress, his hands firmly planted on either side of his son. His eyes flickered shut, his face reddening as he leaned over his boy, the tips of his hair brushing over Legolas’ skin. The man shook with the effort of self-control. Legolas felt a hot tremor lick through his own body. He was feeling brave and half-crazed as he slowly slid his hands around his father’s waist. “Lay with me,” he whispered.

The man’s eyes flew open again, trained hungrily on his son’s damp lips. His trembling persisted until he finally growled, “Godammit.” He slid down onto his side, his body cradled against his son’s uninjured side. Legolas almost cried from the wave of relief and cock-hardening lust that coursed through him. Thranduil brought their hot mouths together again, sliding his tongue messily against Legolas’ as he sank his fingers into the boy’s hair. Legolas groaned when he felt his ada grind his hard cock into Legolas’ hip. The man pulled back immediately, eyes dark with desire, as he panted, “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” Legolas lied, sliding his hand down to cup his father’s straining bulge. His eyes fluttered shut as he rocked against Legolas’ sure hand.

“Legolas!”

“But I’ll tell you how you can make it better,” he whispered as he curled his tongue into his father’s mouth again, relishing the drag of slick lips, rough tongue and sharp teeth. He rubbed his palm hard against his father’s cock before saying, “I want to feel your mouth again.”

“You what?” The man rasped, half delirious.

“If I’m perfectly honest with myself,” Legolas breathed, “I think I’ve wanted to feel your mouth on my cock again ever since that night.” Thranduil grabbed Legolas’ wrist, pulling his hand away.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.” He glared hard at his son then, but his words were undercut by the dilation of his pupils, the moisture on his lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He froze entirely as Legolas shimmied his basketball shorts down his slim hips, careful to avoid contact with the bandage on his upper thigh. The man refused to look down when he heard the telltale slap of rigid cock against taut belly. Thranduil pressed a shaking hand to his son’s naked inner thigh. “I might hurt you.”

“Just be careful,” Legolas said shakily. He twitched, the slightest breeze against his cock sending liquid tremors through his limbs. He could almost ignore the dull throbbing in his leg.

“Ion nin,” he whispered. “My son, my child, my baby boy, please don’t ask me to do this. You couldn’t possibly want this.” He grit his teeth. Legolas gently guided the man with patient hands, led him down lower on his body until Thranduil was slipping Legolas’ shorts the rest of the way down his legs. He tossed them on the floor. He could finally bring himself to look at his son’s straining cock, a gleaming dot of precome dripping from the dark red cockhead. He fisted the hem of the boy’s shirt. With a feral growl, he fell forward and licked a stripe up his boy’s cock, from the tight balls to the leaking tip. Legolas moaned high and needy.

“Ada!” He cried, and Thranduil sucked the dick into his hot mouth and bobbed his head slowly. Legolas moaned, digging his fingers into his father’s soft hair. “Love you so much.” Thranduil groaned around the hard cock before pulling away with a pop.

“Love you more,” he sighed, and Legolas gasped when he drank in the animalistic lust in the man’s eyes and the obscene smear of saliva dripping down his chin.

Legolas gasped again when he saw his mother’s shocked face as she appeared in the open doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna throw you for a curveball and give you a musical theme for Thranduil in this chapter, "[My Sweet Prince](https://youtu.be/5Ce6K0-Riac)" by Placebo.
> 
> Please don't kill me for leaving you with another cliffhanger.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm still alive. Living in China is great, but sometimes the government likes to crack down on VPNs, which means that I lose access to my fic and most of the websites I love. Seems like I'm out of the woods for now. I'll try to get chapter 22 to you guys really soon. I just need to do a few more edits on it, then it's golden.
> 
> BY THE WAY, just a heads up: in this chapter, there is a very brief mention of rape (absolutely no depiction or description of it whatsoever).

If he could just lay back and close his eyes, he could pretend that all this wasn’t happening.

It would be the easiest thing in the world, to just fall swiftly into a dream rather than suffer in the horrible nightmare where he’d suddenly found himself. He could pretend that he had only imagined the horrified, disgusted, thunderous hatred in his mother’s eyes as she came charging towards them, as she pulled his father away by his hair and threw him stunned to the floor at her feet.

He knew it was real. It was happening, just like ada said it would, and he was terrified. His ears rang, and he couldn’t hear the words his mother was shouting, but her hands tore at her husband like wolf claws as she screamed bloody murder. The ringing eventually dimmed, only to be replaced by the pitiful sound of her sobbing, broken voice and his father’s helpless pleas. Legolas scrambled to pull the bedspread over his exposed lower body, the ache in his leg building.

“Your own son, you _fucking_ pervert!” She roared, striking Thranduil across the face with the back of her hand again and again until his face throbbed red. He didn’t fight back. He braced himself against the onslaught of her righteous fury. Her voice was raw and jagged like broken glass as she shrieked with the hammering of her fists, “You fucking disgust me! You’re fucking sick!” He fell to his knees.

“Nana, please!” Legolas wailed, bedbound as he was, clinging to the blankets as a lifeline. “Stop hitting him!”

“I come back to get my briefcase, and I find you _defiling_ my child!” She grabbed his shirtsleeve and yanked, the seam at the shoulder ripping in an explosion of thread. She tore at his hair again, teeth bare as they gnashed in her rage. “How long have you been _raping_ him, Thranduil?” She yanked his head back, forcing the man to look up into her eyes. He grunted with the pain of it.

“Nana!” Legolas cried.

“How long, you fucking monster?” She screamed.

“Nana!” Legolas bellowed. The woman froze, her fist caught tight in Thranduil’s hair. She looked at her son with wild eyes. Legolas’ stomach dropped, and he felt cold all over. His leg was positively throbbing with pain. He swallowed hard and struggled to speak. “Nana, it’s not his fault.”

“Legolas, you don’t understand-”

“Nana, I brought this on,” he said weakly. Her brow fell and she released Thranduil’s hair.

“Legolas, my love,” she said, her voice shaking in the wake of her anger. “What this man has done to you is not your fault. You can’t blame-”

“I seduced him,” Legolas said resolutely, his betrayal laid bare. Her mouth dropped open. 

Thranduil started. “Legolas, you don’t have to-”

“I begged him,” Legolas continued, ignoring his father’s protest. “Over and over again. He kept saying no.” Her face went blank and her hands fell to her sides, and Thranduil crumpled. Her eyes were wide, and breath skittered unevenly from her flared nostrils.

Softly, she asked, “Did he tell you to say that?”

“I…” Legolas’ voice broke as it flooded with choked tears. “I still want him. Even though you know now.” Her eyes grew wild as her lips twisted in disgust. Her chest heaved as she suppressed the urge to vomit. She stumbled a few steps away from them, her back turned as she searched for the words to say.

“I was so afraid,” she began softly, “so afraid that you were going to find some younger, newer model and leave me. It drove me half crazy with paranoia, paranoia I told myself I was stupid to feel.” She jerked back to look at them, her husband and son, with bone-deep malice. Her eyes narrowed then, and she ground her teeth before spitting at her son, “It never once occurred to me…” She bit back a sob. “I never suspected there was a viper nesting in my own home.” Legolas flinched, his head bowed in shame and despair. 

“Nana, I love you!” He sobbed. “I never meant-”

“Like _fuck_ , you do,” she hissed. 

He looked up into her eyes, his own deep blue pleading with every fiber of his being. “Nana, I’m your son, and I always will be.” 

She laughed cruelly and, walking over to him slowly, she said in cool, calculated cadence, “If this is what it means to have you as a son, then I don’t want you.” Legolas’ heart burst.

“Nana, I-” 

“I don’t... _want you_.” She stood tall again and turned towards Thranduil. She slipped the wedding band from her finger, and as she turned to leave, she placed the ring on the small table by the door. She didn’t look back.

Thranduil rounded on Legolas, ducking to fetch the boy’s shorts from the floor. He bent down and pressed a shaky kiss to his son’s tear streaked cheek. He stood straight again and grabbed Legolas’ hands. His voice was wry, shattered, as he said, “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.” Legolas fought back the rising tide of tears as Thranduil threw himself into the seat across from the bed.

“What happens now, ada?” He asked, wiping his nose on the back of his arm.

“We wait for the other shoe to drop.”

A commotion sounded in the hall, and within seconds, the bedroom door flew open. “What the devil is going on?” Elrond bellowed as he stormed into the room. “Why is Sabariel crying?” Thranduil looked up at the man with an empty expression, though the scratch marks on Thranduil’s face and his torn shirt shoulder spoke volumes. Elrond glanced down at his nephew who was silently sobbing on the bed.

“I’m sure she’d rather tell you,” Thranduil answered bitterly.

“Bullshit,” the man snarled. “What did you do?”

Thranduil teetered on a wave of indecision before he growled ferociously into the air. Elrond hesitated. The blonde tugged on some boots and stormed from the room. “I’m leaving.”

“Like hell you are, you damn coward!” Elrond hissed, catching the man’s arm and yanking him to a stop in the hallway. “If you hit my daughter, I swear to the Valar…” Thranduil jerked away, but just as he turned to leave, Celeborn came thundering down the hallway.

“Where’s Legolas?” He shouted, face a violent shade of crimson. Thranduil had never felt so small, not since he was a child.

“B-bedroom. My bedroom,” he sputtered, shrinking away from the man as he strode past in broad, furious strides. Elrond turned to follow after the man, and Thranduil took it as his chance to escape, fleeing to his car and grinding out of the driveway, practically flying past the car waiting on the street. He didn’t look up to see the murder in his wife’s eyes as he flew past her. He didn’t know where he was going.

“What’s happened?” Elrond demanded, following Celeborn down the hall.

“She still won’t say,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just told me to get the boy away from Thranduil.” They pushed the door open.

“What has that piece of trash done to you?” The smaller man asked as he barged in first, just in time to find Legolas gingerly tugging his basketball shorts into place. The two men watched him with critical, darting eyes for a moment, arrested by the sorrow coming from the boy in waves.

“He’s not trash,” Legolas insisted, tears streaming down his face. “He did nothing wrong.”

“What are you protecting him from, Legolas?” Elrond barked, standing over the boy. Legolas tremored and then erupted into sobs again. “What are you hiding?”

“Legolas, please _tell us_ ,” Celeborn said calmly, his voice soothing and nearly hypnotic. He gently edged Elrond out of the way. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. Legolas sniffled, looking up at his worried uncle and grandfather.

“Nana didn’t tell you?” He asked, his voice damp and gravelly.

“No, Lego,” Celeborn said, “so you’ve gotta let us know what’s wrong so we can fix it.” Legolas immediately looked up, casting his eyes away. Elrond surged forward again, renewed by Legolas’ reticence.

“Did that animal… Is this...?” He blustered, face inches from his adopted nephew’s. “Did that animal _touch_ you?” Immediately, Celeborn shooed him away.

“Elrond Eärendilion, don’t be a fool!” he said softly, reaching out to smooth Legolas’ hair. “Look, if you don’t want to talk right now, Legolas, that’s okay, but your mother asked us to fetch you. We’re gonna stay at a hotel tonight.” 

Legolas’ brow knit. “Why can’t we stay here?” He begged. “It doesn’t make sense to all go to the hotel. This is home.” He wrung his hands together. “Ada already left.”

“Your naneth is quite upset,” Celeborn said soothingly. “It’ll be good for her to sleep somewhere else tonight.” His voice swayed Legolas into a momentary lull, and he only wanted to rest and just do as his grandfather so gently told him. “I’ll go upstairs and pack a bag for you, okay? Is there anything you want in particular?”

“Nothing,” he answered absently. “My phone.”

“Now, Uncle Elrond will help you to the car,” he continued in that mesmerizing voice. “Be a lamb and cooperate with him, okay?” Legolas nodded slowly, suddenly completely exhausted and compliant. “There’s a good lad.”

 

He hated hotels. Well, he hated _this_ hotel. It was so beige and almost clinical enough that it immediately put him on edge the second his Gran had opened the door, her mouth twisted in a brave almost-smile as Legolas hobbled past her. The ride to the hotel had been tense, silent. Legolas’ pain meds weren’t doing much to help, and anyway, nothing could have cured the sick, cancerous feeling in his belly. His mother had sat in the front passenger seat scant few feet away from her son, but he had never felt so far from her in his entire life. He wondered despairingly if she would ever even look at him again, much less gaze upon him with her usual care and pride. 

He thought bitterly now, sitting on the tidy twin bed in the room the adults had left him in, that that was all gone now. Any maternal love and devotion the woman had ever felt for her son could not possibly have withstood the twisted betrayal he’d committed against her. The thought left him feeling impossibly alone. He wanted his ada here so badly, just to hold the man’s hand and feel less frightened and unloved.

 _Incest_. The word bubbled up into his brain before he could stop it. He quickly realized he’d long forbidden the word, had shied away from it, skirted around it like a professional fucking salsa dancer for weeks now. But there it was. _Incest_. The word made him sick. He felt backwards onto the bed with a pained grunt.

He could hear them arguing in the ensuite, even through the door that Grandpa had closed with a resolute frown. Just barely, he could pick out a few words here and there, especially when Uncle Elrond’s voice rose. Legolas’ agony grew as he stewed in the anticipation of what the five of them were plotting. Gingerly, he rose from the bed and hobbled over to the door, bracing himself against the various pieces of solid furniture he found along the way. He pressed his ear against the door and listened intently.

“...have to call some kind of child protective agency-”

“Legolas is an adult-”

“The police, then!”

“And have our family’s business end up in the paper tomorrow?” Came Grandma’s cool voice. “Can you imagine the shame that would befall our families? The alienation Legolas would have to suffer in school?” Legolas could almost see everyone in the room ceasing their arguing immediately. The woman had an uncanny way of seeing into people’s heads, and though he’d always preferred his Gran, he immediately felt an absurd rush of hope that Grandma’d be the cooler head that prevailed.

“Galadriel is right,” he could hear his Grandpa agree. “We must do as we have done for centuries in this family. How we proceed in this… delicate matter will be a display of our strength and our solidarity in the face of shameful adversity.”

“I want to make him suffer,” Uncle Elrond growled. “I want to make him bleed for this, for what he’s done to you and Legolas.”

“Excuse me?” Gran interrupted, paradoxically trembling and brave. “Have you forgotten that this is my son we’re talking about? I can’t just sit by while you’re plotting to have him assassinated or whatever psychotic nonsense Elrond’s babbling about.”

“Of _course_ , she wants to protect him!”

“Elrond, your human half is showing,” she said viciously. “Please do control yourself.” Legolas could hear movement and Aunt Celebrían’s muffled whispers. “Now, I don’t excuse what Thranduil has done. It’s inexcusable, but I think you’re forgetting for one second that Legolas is also an adult and, by his own admission, had a major part to play in this... perversity. Do you plan to make him suffer as well?”

“Just what are you suggesting, Aeardes?”

“I’m suggesting, _Celeborn_ , that before you go all fucking _Godfather_ on my only living child, perhaps we could consider another course of action.” Legolas’ thigh was practically screaming at this point, and as he shifted, he accidentally grazed the doorknob. Conversation in the other room halted.

A fraction of a second later, the door opened a crack, and Celeborn peered down at Legolas. “Legolas,” he said severely, “I thought I told you to rest.”

“I want to know what’s happening,” he insisted. He glanced past his grandfather’s frame to see his mother sitting in a wooden chair, folded in on herself, her face pale and drawn and stained with smeared mascara.

“He’s not welcome in this room,” Sabariel interjected with a hollow voice. Her eyes didn’t rise from the patch of carpet they’d been glued to for the past several minutes. “I want him out of my sight.” Tears began welling in Legolas’ eyes again. He choked hard on a lump forming in his throat. As though on cue, Grandma glided across the room and slipped through the door as she shooed her husband away. She pulled the door behind her and helped Legolas to the bed.

“Are they going to hurt my father?” He asked her, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking. She avoided his eyes as she pulled the blankets down for him.

“No one’s going to hurt your father,” she answered, though her tone was not nearly as soothing as her words. “No more than he’s already hurt himself.”

“Grandma,” Legolas called out as she turned to leave. She looked down at him, stepping closer. Her eyes boring into his, she watched the quivering emotion on his face.

“Were you coerced in any way?” She asked, and the question nearly felt like a slap. Legolas curled up on the bed and struggled to hold back his tears. “Were you blackmailed by him or.. or.. drugged or…?”

“No,” he whispered, his face staining red. All of a sudden, he had never wanted to be alone so badly in his whole life. She simply stood over him, watching him like an eagle watches a rabbit. He was viciously reminded of his own mother.

“For the time being, you had best stay away from Sabariel,” she said archly. “I think we’re _all_ reasonably disgusted with your actions... but her most of all.” He nodded miserably, and the tears finally won, welling in his eyes as the woman quietly left the room. He snatched a pillow into his arms and held onto it for dear life, burying his face into it as sobs began to wrack his body. His leg was throbbing, but he’d be damned if he’d ask if anyone had remembered to pack his pain medicine. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

Me>Tau, it’s Legolas. New phone.  
Me>Look, I’m really sorry.  
Me>I need a friend right now.

He waited for what felt like at least half an hour without a reply, a storm of resentment building in his chest.

Me>I know you came to visit me in the hospital.  
Tau>I’m moving to Erebor with Kili. We’re leaving in a couple of days  
Me>Can I see you before you go?  
Tau>You know, you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve  
Tau>You say all that horrible shit to me and then go and nearly get your dumb ass killed  
Me>I’m going through a lot of shit right now, Tau.  
Tau>Look, I’m glad you’re not dead, but I really can’t with you right now. I’m so done.

His hands were shaking. He clicked out of the app and messed around with apps just to keep his mind off things. After he’d entered his account information into the email app, his inboxes loaded, and his phone pinged with unread emails. Apparently, Gimli son of Gloin had a few words to say to him, too. “Fucking grand,” he mumbled. He rolled his eyes and contemplated deleting the email without opening it. He thought better of it.

From: Gimli  
You okay, Pointy Ears? I went to the hospital to see you, and they said you left already. I tried texting you, but Gandalf said your phone’s fucked. Our midterm got moved back because of the accident. We can turn it in whenever. So, just let me know what’s going on. All the guys are worried about you, and Gandalf hasn’t received any news from your mother lately, so. You know. Just let us know what’s going on.  
-Beardy

 

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the early morning sunlight now invaded his consciousness as it beamed brightly through the gaps in the cheap, plastic window blinds. He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, but a useless 12:00 blinked at him in digital red. He noticed his bottle of pills and a glass of water. With an ecstatic prayer of thanks, he popped two pills and slugged them back with a desperate chugging that left the glass nearly empty. 

His stomach growled, and as though on cue, Gran came through the ensuite door with a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice. She sat at the foot of the bed and watched as he downed the food in a few bites. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and then found himself left with nothing to do but look at her awkwardly, unsure of what he could possibly say to this woman. She beat him to the chase.

“You really fucked up, kid,” she said simply, her face tired and drawn. He swallowed hard.

“I know,” he answered, barely a whisper.

“Care to explain yourself?” She asked, her voice carefully level, measured and restrained.

“No,” he croaked, feeling the tears rising in his eyes again.

“Too fucking bad,” she replied. “Talk.” Legolas looked up her, her thin hands resting on her folded knees. The light in her eyes was unkind.

“What could I possibly say?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” she said. “And right now, I’m pretty much the closest thing to an ally that you’ve got, buckaroo, so you’d better do some talking.” Her words stung. He felt himself drowning in the realization that he really had no one else, not a single soul in the world who wouldn’t be disgusted by him now that the truth had come to light, now that his deformity was visible in the light of day. He’d rather die than lose the one last person who seemed to still love him.

So, he talked.

He spilled his guts, starting from that fateful night in the toilets all the way to breaking up with Meludir, his half-baked idea to run away, and begging his father to bed him in the wake of almost dying. She remained silent through the confession, and by the end, Legolas half expected her to command him to say three Hail Marys and four Our Fathers. He half expected absolution. He knew better than to think he’d actually get it.

“I just… I love him so much, Gran,” he uttered through the thick caul of shame that smothered him. “And not as a son. I fought it as long as I could, but I’ve never needed someone the way I need him. I know it’s wrong. I’m not stupid. I’m not a child. I’m not mentally ill. I just…” Again, he found himself at a loss for words. He knew he couldn’t justify what they had done, just as much as he knew he couldn’t shake the desire that still wrapped itself around his heart.

Gran was very still for a while, contemplative, but then she hesitantly said, “I’m not going to patronize you. I can’t say I approve of this, or that I even understand it.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t sit here and tell you that how you feel is right or wrong or whatever.” She paused, her brow knit. “How the hell would I know? Love is… Love’s a really strange thing. There are so many ways that love manifests itself in our daily lives. But godammit, Legolas, he’s your father. You’re not a child anymore, and so how you feel and how you act on those feelings… These are independent drives.”

“Not to me.”

“It’s just…” She rubbed her tired face hard and sighed. “Legolas, how long have you been struggling with these feelings for your father?” 

“ _Weeks_ ,” he moaned, trying desperately to remember a time when he wasn’t plagued with this mess. She smiled in a tired, jaded way. 

“Weeks,” she said wryly, “weeks, weeks, weeks.” She sighed. “Eru fucking Ilúvatar, do you know how short a few weeks is in the course of a lifetime? Honey, I’ve spent longer planning dinner parties than that.” He wanted her to smile at him. She didn’t.

“Nothing I can do about it now,” he choked.

“No,” she agreed. “No, there isn’t. You royally fucked up.” She smoothed the rumpled blanket with long, graceful fingers, just like her son’s. Legolas fought a tremor. “But you’re not alone.”

“What do you mean?” He asked with a surge of hope. He really could use the support offered in those four words.

“I mean that your father had a role to play in this, too. And he really should have known better. _He_ has no one to blame but himself,” she answered him. The hope fled him then, chased closely by a whoosh of disappointment.

“What’s going to happen?”

She sighed again, and this time she didn’t speak for a while. She reached out for his hand, her fingers ice cold. Shaking her head, she said, “Who can say? That depends on several factors.”

“Being?”

“Being how well my idiot son complies with your mother’s demands.” She laughed without mirth. “Being how good you are at walking on eggshells probably for the rest of your miserable life.” He pulled his hand away from hers and reached for the glass of orange juice on the side table. He took a single sip that turned his stomach.

“What’s the point of walking on eggshells?” He nearly sobbed. “She never wants to see me again anyway.” He set the glass down with a thunk and laid his head on the pillow. Gran sighed again. He’d never heard her sigh so much.

“She still loves you, dummy,” the woman said softly. Legolas huffed. “I know you can’t understand why, but… You’re her son. I know all about how much we mothers are willing to forgive our children when they do horrible, selfish, misguided things.” Legolas melted under the heat of shame that came creeping up his neck again. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. “Of course, she owes your father no such forgiveness.” At length, she began to rise from the bed, but before she left, she turned back to him and said, “This won’t be fun.”

“Oh, because it’s such a fucking gas now, isn’t it?” Legolas said, sniffling against the tears now falling freely from his face.

“Anyway,” she sighed, reaching for the doorknob. “Eggshells, Legolas. Eggshells.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, you guys. You fuel me. It was hard being away for nearly a week and a half.
> 
> Here's Legolas' emotional theme for the chapter, "[You Don't Care About Us](https://youtu.be/Sv8PZwsRLWs)" by Placebo. It mostly refers to his feelings about Tauriel.
> 
> Also, I just updated my Harry Potter/Lily Luna Potter fic [Droit du seigneur](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8607457/chapters/19738594). Give it a spin, if that's your thing.
> 
> As always, you can come chat with me on [my tumblr](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com).
> 
> Stay warm wherever you are in the world.
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: Oh, and BY THE FUCKING WAY, hauntedpoem wrote an absolutely smashing and stunning and _fucking gooooood_ little number with Thranduil and Meludir that you absolutely HAVE TO READ. Click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8840860) or I'll murder you.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn.
> 
> Please just bear that in mind. I can't handle leading you guys into so much agony. I love you.

“Knock knock,” came Gimli’s gruff voice from the slightly ajar doorway. He leaned in and frowned when he saw Legolas laying on the bed, his arm hanging over his eyes, hair tangled around his shoulders. “Gandalf said you were back.” Legolas didn’t answer, opting to scowl even deeper at the intrusion. He’d never admit out loud that he was relieved to hear the Dwarf’s rumbling voice. “I, uh… I know it’s a bit early for lunch, but Aragorn suggested someone get you something to eat and since pretty much everyone’s gone back home for the holiday, well...”

Legolas could hear heavy footsteps and the rustle of a plastic sack as Gimli plopped the takeaway containers on the coffee table. He could tell the Dwarf was waiting for some kind of response by the impatient foot shuffling and beard stroking coming from the other side of the room. Gimli cursed under his breath about ungrateful Elves and turned to stomp out. “Thanks.” Legolas’ voice was quiet, but Gimli heard him clearly. He paused in the doorway, hesitating. Legolas finally peeled his arm away from his eyes and turned slowly to look at the be-flanneled boy and his grumpy eyes and all his harrumphing. “Could you bring it over here?” Gimli sighed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, tromping over to the table and begrudgingly presenting the bag to the boy on the bed. “Here.” Legolas took the food and set it down on the floor next to the mattress. Gimli paused, gazing down at the blonde awkwardly. “Okay, so I’m just gonna…”

“Are you hungry?” Legolas interrupted, avoiding Gimli’s eyes as he began pulling containers from the bag and laying them out on the floor. “There’s way too much for me to eat by myself.” Gimli shrugged and sat down on the floor across from Legolas.

“It’s Ereborian,” Gimli explained. “I don’t know if you like Ereborian food.” Legolas received the carton he was handed as Gimli took over.

“I’ve had it a couple of times,” he answered. “It’s a little spicy.”

“I picked mild stuff. I know you Elves have _sensitive_ palates,” he said with a sly smirk. Legolas rolled his eyes and watched Gimli dig around in the bag for packs of chopsticks, handing one to Legolas. Legolas’ face dropped.

“Uh, is there a fork in there?” He asked hesitantly. Gimli laughed, a rich and pleasant lilt dancing forth. Legolas decided he quite liked the sound, how it was almost avuncular.

“Come on, Pointy Ears,” he chuckled. “True Ereborian cuisine is eaten with true Ereborian cutlery. Fuck your lazy forks.” Legolas rolled his eyes and slid the chopsticks from the paper wrapper. Gimli watched him with growing amusement as the Elf dug around in the carton of stewed lamb chunks and onions, desperately attempting to tweeze a morsel from the rest.

“I swear to Eru, if you laugh, I’m going to stab you with these,” Legolas hissed as he continued his ungraceful digging. Finally, he gave up and just speared the meat, tearing into it like a shish kabob. Gimli stifled a laugh as he deftly dug into a pile of boiled taproots in brown sauce.

“Yeah,” he said between bites, “my girlfriend had a hard time learning, too. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Your girlfriend’s not a Dwarf?” Legolas asked through a mouthful of food. “I never thought girls would be into short guys.”

“Watch your tone, Pretty Boy,” Gimli warned. “Big things come in small packages.”

“Trust me, Beardy,” Legolas mumbled. “I have no desire to discuss your small package.”

“Magda’s not complained yet,” he replied brightly. Legolas snorted, trying not to choke on his lunch. They fell into companionable silence as they ate. At length, Legolas looked up from his food.

“You really didn’t have to bring me anything,” he said. “I can get around okay now. I’m healing nicely, besides...” He tilted his head towards the door, where two crutches leaned against the wall. “Crutches,” he explained. Gimli just shrugged, setting the nearly empty carton to the side.

“Gandalf, uh…” He began, but he soon appeared decidedly at a loss for words. He reached for another carton full of steaming roasted peppers. Legolas waited. “He may have hinted that things aren’t so great with your family right now, and I just thought...” A sick lurching feeling roiled through Legolas.

“Excuse me?” He demanded, beginning to see red. Gimli immediately began backpedalling.

“He didn’t go into specifics,” Gimli said defensively. “He just said that your parents are probably getting a divorce, and-”

“First of all, that’s pretty damn specific,” Legolas hissed. “And second of all, it’s no one’s damn business. I don’t know where Gandalf’s getting his information, but-”

“You’re right, man!” He agreed enthusiastically, his eyes wide with remorse. “I don’t know why I said anything.”

“I don’t need anyone’s fucking charity,” Legolas growled, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He tried to still his shaking hands by resting them on the encased leg he’d slung to the side. 

Gimli nodded sympathetically before he took a shot in the dark and asked, “Would you accept weed instead?” Legolas’ anger wilted fast. His shoulders dropped. Gimli gave him a little half smile before fishing a pipe from his waistcoat pocket. He packed the bowl and held it out as a peace offering.

“Yeah,” Legolas sighed. “Fine.” He accepted the pipe and lighter and took a long, slow hit. Not long later, the two were lying perpendicularly on the bed, takeaway containers forgotten, singing stupid songs and laughing like idiots. Legolas turned to the boy with a lopsided grin and sang, “Hey, Beardy!”

“Yeah, Fancy?”

Legolas pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down at Gimli. “Are we friends now?” Gimli laughed again.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “I can’t stand the sight of you.”

“Oh, good,” Legolas replied, collapsing back down on the bed again. “I was worried for a second that I might have to start being nice to you.” They lay for a while, relishing in the heady haze of Gimli’s potent weed. “Can I tell you something really personal?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“My parents are getting divorced because of me,” he whispered in a reckless outpouring. He laughed. He nearly sobbed.

“That can’t be true,” Gimli said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“I did a really bad thing.” Gimli leaned up on his elbow and looked down at Legolas skeptically.

“What’d you do?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Legolas answered, turning gingerly onto his side, away from Gimli’s inscrutable gaze. “Anyway.” Gimli took another hit from his pipe and laid his head back down.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. Legolas huffed a bitter kind of laugh.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. Gimli nodded, his lips tight. “I don’t know why I brought it up.” After a while, he turned over and said to Gimli, “I’m gonna see Professor Galion tomorrow to arrange a time for our midterm thing.”

“Cool.”

“Hey, Beardy,” Legolas said.

Gimli sighed. “Yeah, Pointy Ears?”

“I guess you’re pretty alright.”

“What, for a Dwarf?”

“Nah,” Legolas sighed. “Just, you know… In general, you’re pretty alright.”

“High praise, coming from the crown prince of Eryn Lasgalen,” he said, smirking. Legolas eyed him balefully.

 

Thranduil paced through his house, his feet wearing the same weary path he’d been repeating for hours. He’d returned late the night before after having driven around aimlessly for hours only to find that his wife and mother and in-laws had disappeared, much to his overwhelming relief. They had taken Legolas with them. The ache in his chest nearly crushed him.

He hadn’t slept, contenting himself with the pursuit of draining his prized wine cellar. The sun had long ago risen, and he had been thus far unsuccessful in polishing off the booze. His head swam with a vengeance as he’d long ago sobered up, contented to pace away the alcohol as he awaited his long-overdue just desserts. He finally allowed himself to rest, padding out to the back patio, sitting down heavily to look over the back yard and the greenhouse and the trees.

How would it arrive, the moment when he’d have to look at everything he’d done straight in the eyes? The months of lying to his wife, of tossing off random strangers in risky places, of lusting after the one person alive he shouldn’t feel such fire for. Of willfully, gleefully succumbing to the boy’s wishes. What would it be? Sirens of cop cars speeding down the quiet country roads that lead to him, their tires tearing at the gravel of the long driveway in their haste to drag him away for the rest of his life? Remembering the cold, murderous fire in his wife’s eyes, he knew it was more likely he’d be met with a knife on a dark side street on the way to his car after work some night. If that allowed him to live even that long. That was more her family’s style. He cursed himself for not having thought of that outcome sooner, before he’d carried on in the delusion that he and Legolas could live in a bubble of their own design.

The doorbell rang.

He ignored it.

It rang again, and still he sat. Moments later, the steady rhythm of approaching footsteps echoed out onto the back porch. His heart pounded in his chest, and he fought to draw a steadying breath. How would fate greet him? The steps stopped. He felt eyes on the back of his neck.

“Ah, Thranduil,” came Celeborn’s cool, cordial voice. “Would you care to join us inside?” Thranduil paled. Elrond, he could handle, with the half-Elf’s youthful outbursts and silly attempts at appearing collected and wise among those far older and wiser than he. But Celeborn, he couldn’t handle. The older man was frightening even if you were in his good graces. Legolas was too young to know the harder, more ruthless side of his grandfather, but Thranduil knew better. He had the wild thought that his heart would surely fail him, beating as it was in his chest. He almost welcomed the thought.

Clearing his throat, he said evenly, “But of course, Celeborn.” There would be no defying this man. Thranduil rose stiffly and turned to look at the monolithic blonde waiting in the doorway, two rather colossal and gruesome-looking brutes standing behind their fair leader, somehow taller and broader in their pressed black suits. Thranduil fought back the flicker of cold fear that trickled up his spine, manifesting as a throbbing vein in his forehead. He swallowed hard.

He followed the men down the hallway into his office. Celeborn seated himself confidently in the red vinyl seat behind the large, glass desk. _Thranduil_ ’s seat. He grimaced as he was relegated to the small black chair across from his father-in-law. The two goons came to stand behind Thranduil, visible just in the edges of his vision. Celeborn placed his folded hands atop the desk. “You won’t mind if my associates join us.”

“Of course not,” Thranduil choked out, frigid with nerves.

“Of course not,” Celeborn repeated indulgently. At length, he spoke. “Thranduil, Thranduil, Thranduil,” the man said slowly, his lips pursed as he gazed down at his hands. “I must be honest with you. Your actions have left me extremely... _disappointed_.” He looked up at his son-in-law. With a terrifying smile, he said, “I really don’t enjoy being disappointed.” He rose from the desk and walked over to the sliding glass door that led to the garden. He gazed outside and continued, “You’ve put me in a really difficult position, you understand.”

“Yes,” Thranduil croaked. Celeborn turned to him with an arched eyebrow.

“Do you, now?” He asked, a sharp humor tainting his voice, so much like a bloodied silver dagger. He returned to his seat and rubbed his hands down the armrests slowly, an unimpressed scowl momentarily flashing across his features as he scanned the design of it. “Tacky, Thranduil. Even for you.” Pulling his attention away from the furniture, he looked up at the man. “Please. Elaborate, then. What options have you left me?” Thranduil shifted in his seat miserably as Celeborn fixed him with his frozen grey stare. Thranduil was a mouse caught in a corner, a ravenous sabertooth tiger salivating over him.

“Okay, fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know.” Celeborn smiled knowingly with a sigh and slumped in the seat.

“Oh, Thranduil,” he practically moaned, all patronizing faux sympathy. “The disappointment grows, I’m afraid.” He tapped his fingertips against the top of the desk for a moment before changing tack. “So, the way I see it, I’ve got two choices. Neither is particularly savory. First, and I must say the most tempting, is to just have you miraculously disappear under very mysterious circumstances. This would free my daughter to collect on all that is due to her for her suffering, and it would serve to protect my poor grandson from your continued perverse influence.” Thranduil tremored as the edges of his vision blackened. His breath felt jagged in his lungs. “Ah, I can see that this solution isn’t to your liking. Fortunately for you, this kind of thing invites scrutiny from outside agencies, and your sudden disappearance would certainly leave our family exposed to, uh, prying eyes.” He reveled in Thranduil’s brief flash of relief. “Not that this is a deal breaker. I have ways of discouraging scrutiny, which is why option one’s still on the table.” 

Thranduil fought the urge to fall to his knees and beg for some kind display of mercy. “Celeborn, I-” He felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder, pinning him in place. He shut his mouth. 

“Solution two,” he purred, watching Thranduil wither under the meaty hoof, “isn’t nearly as _neat_ , but it would certainly be a safer choice for my associates and me.” He expression fell. “And it would certainly be a lot easier to explain to Legolas, who seems to operate under the misconception that you still care for his well-being. Legolas, who begged that I spare his dear, sweet ada.” Thranduil’s knuckles were white as he held his shaking fists in his lap. “So, option two: You make yourself disappear,” he said simply. “You agree to all of Sabariel’s demands in the divorce. You forfeit your position at the University to me. You leave Eryn Lasgalen, and you don’t return.” He slammed his palms down hard on the desk and leaned forward, viciously whispering, “And under no circumstances will you speak to your son ever again. Not a phone call, not an email, not a text. Not even a _fucking_ smoke signal. Do you understand me?” Thranduil nodded vigorously, and the urge to vomit returned with a vengeance.

“Of course, Celeborn. You’ll never hear from me again. I only want what’s best for my son.” Thranduil watched the man’s face with sick, guilty hope. Celeborn leaned back in the chair again, a pleased smile on his face. The smile fell as he sighed heavily.

“Ohhh, Thranduil,” he said with malicious glee. “Do you really think it’s going to just be that easy?” Thranduil’s head swam. “Am I supposed to just take you at your word? You, who care so little for honor that you’d fuck your own son and then devote yourself to his safety?”

“We _never_ had sex!” Two hands slammed down on his shoulders this time. Thranduil grimaced, practically gasping for breath. Weakly, he croaked, “I’d never-”

“Thranduil, I’m no blushing maiden,” he said indulgently. “I’ve done things that would make Caligula’s hair curl.” He paused a moment in fond recollection. “It’s not your sordid daddy-son bent that disgusts me. I’m not some pearl-clutching housewife. I couldn’t care less. No, what disgusts me is that you’d cross a member of my family and think you’d get away with it. And any card I play leaves us open, vulnerable, a position I’ll not allow.” He glared straight into Thranduil’s red eyes. Thranduil had the distinct feeling the man was staring into his very soul. “So, do you see how difficult this conundrum is?” He steepled his fingers in front of his face. “What… to… do?”

“How can I assure you that I’ll adhere to your conditions?” Thranduil croaked through pale lips.

“So quick to roll over onto your back,” he laughed cruelly. “Are you going to spread your legs for me, too?” Thranduil looked away from the man’s mocking eyes. “Well. If you want to save your own skin, you can start by writing down every email address, social media account, et cetera that you have. Anything with an inbox. Log-in _and_ password. My associates and I will feel so much more at ease if we can keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re not weaselling around.” He slid a piece of paper and a pen across the desk. “And we’ll be monitoring Legolas as well, just to make sure you’re not circumventing our noble efforts.” Thranduil took the pen and began scribbling across the page. Moments later, he looked up and slid the paper back to Celeborn. “Very good.”

“How much time will you give me to put my affairs in order?” He asked softly.

“You have until tomorrow evening to be gone,” he man said in a stony voice. Thranduil knew better than to protest. “If you’re still in Eryn Lasgalen by nightfall, I’ll personally break both of your legs.” Thranduil numbly nodded. The man began to rise, but before he exited the room, he turned back to his disgraced, soon to be former son-in-law and said grimly, “And Thranduil, remember this: when you’re lying alone in your bed at night, cursing me for ruining your life, for not letting you just take whatever you want, I want you to remember one thing: I’m not the monster in this scenario. I’m only doing what’s best to secure the dignity of my family. And while Sabariel may not be blood, she and Legolas are as close to my heart as anyone could possibly get, and I would easily kill to protect them from the shame and heartbreak you seem more than happy to rain down on their shoulders.” He paused as he found his composure once more.

Thranduil ached to fight back, but his head dropped uselessly and he closed his eyes.

“I’m not the monster, Thranduil. Not in this tale.”

The man and his associates left with nothing more than a quiet opening and closing of the front door down the hall. Thranduil collapsed onto the floor as silent, terrified sobs wracked his exhausted body.

 

Me>Nana, I don’t know what I can do to show you how sorry I am for hurting you.  
Me>I’ll do anything you ask me to do. It doesn’t matter what, I’ll gladly do it.  
Me>I’m so, so, so sorry you’re hurting like this.  
Me>I can’t bear you being hurt by something I did.

Gimli had left several hours before, staggering out the door to go collapse in his own bed. In that time, Legolas had already cried every tear left in his body. He felt wrung out and completely spent. The last vestiges of hope and dignity had fled him, and he realized he’d be willing to crawl through mud to appease his wronged mother.

Me>Please, Nana. This is all my fault, and I have to show you how sorry I am.  
Nana>Cut the bullshit.  
Me>Nana, what can I do?  
Nana>Just stop it, Legolas. I want nothing from you.  
Me>I’ll do anything. PLEASE  
Me>I just need to talk to you.

He wiped a tear from his eyes, as his body somehow found and tapped into the last hidden reserves of agony he had left. He sniffled pathetically and pulled his blanket closer around himself.

Nana>Bring me your father’s head on a platter, and then we can talk.  
Me>Nana, that isn’t funny.  
Nana>You know what isn’t funny?  
Nana>My husband and my only child having an affair.  
Nana>I’ll talk to you when I’m damn well ready, and until then, you can leave me the hell alone.

 

Hours passed. Legolas hadn’t moved from his bed. He hadn’t eaten supper and had no intention to remedy the matter. He reached for his phone and clicked it open.

Me>Ada, I need to see you.  
Me>I’m in my dorm. Please come to me.

Ada never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, guys. It'll finally be over soon enough. Then we can all get together and cuddle and cry.
> 
> So, basically, I just imagine Legolas spending this whole chapter pretty much just laying on his back listening to this song over and over and over, "[I Went Too Far](https://youtu.be/eT6dLJd3rYk)" by AURORA.
> 
> And um, I unabashedly love quasi-mafia!Celeborn to the very bottom of my black little soul, and I absolutely HAD to work him. I hope it didn't come across too hamfisted.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

When Legolas woke up the next morning, he rolled over with a groan, his leg complaining ever so slightly as he shifted. Clearly, the jagged slice across his thigh was welding itself back together well enough. He sent out a prayer to the universe that his shattered leg would soon stitch itself back together, too. The constant itching from the cast was starting to drive him mad.

As the caul of sleep wore away, his chest filled with its now customary weighty blackness, and he heaved himself into a sitting position, swinging his cast over the edge of the mattress. The doctor had said he’d need another six weeks, at the very least, before they could take the cursed thing off. He wondered bleakly if his mother would be speaking to him again by that time. He doubted it. He jolted when his phone began buzzing, and he began pawing through his twisted bed sheets looking for it. He switched off the alarm clock and checked his messages.

Gran>Hey pal  
Gran>Just got back to my house  
Gran>Remember what I said when we dropped you off. If you need somewhere to stay on Xmas, you know you always have a place at mine  
Gran>Things are weird right now but you’re still family

He sighed gratefully at the woman’s apparently endless charity and kindness.

Me>Will he be there?  
Gran>No, of course  
Gran>Your grandfather took it upon himself to arrange holiday plans for Thranduil  
Gran>No offense, buckaroo, but none of us trusts either of you right now  
Me>I know.  
Me>Anyway. I’ll keep you posted. Christmas isn’t for several weeks.

Suddenly, his phone began ringing. Legolas’ pulse froze when he read the caller’s name.

“Meludir?” He whispered, squeezing the phone to his ear for dear life. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could only hear soft, agitated breathing on the other side. Meludir was struggling, Legolas could tell, but he surged with the need to say something, anything to the boy at the end of the line. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’m okay.” He was met by more silence. He wanted to beg Meludir to just say his name.

Finally, Meludir spoke, his voice restrained and raw. “Tauriel made me call you,” he said evenly. “She told me the shit you said to her, too, right before you went and nearly got yourself killed.” It wasn’t what Legolas wanted to hear, but he’d take it.

“Yeah,” Legolas sighed, his throat tightening and his high cheekbones tingeing red.

“ _Yeah_?” He said with disgust. “That’s all you’re gonna say to me is ‘ _yeah_?’” He huffed in disbelief. “You can be such a… _jerk_ sometimes, you know?” Legolas could imagine his beautiful face so clearly in his mind’s eye, the auburn boy’s soft, troubled eyes and his full, parted lips bearing evidence of his anguish.

“I made a mistake.” Legolas bit his lip, cringing upon delivering the understatement of the fucking year.

“I’ll say.” Meludir was unimpressed, deadpan. Legolas felt like an absolute stooge.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Meludir nearly growled. “Legolas, you used the _one thing_ you knew would cut me to the bone, and I’m not exactly positive you understand or even care how much it hurt.” Legolas swallowed hard, his head beginning to spin. “And I keep asking myself over and over again _why_ you would do something like that. To me and to Tauriel. Because you were having some stupid Salinger-fueled, self-loathing bender? Or you just wanted to be alone? What the fuck was it?” He paused, took a steady breath. “Well, I hope you got what you were looking for, even if it _was_ at my expense.” Legolas began to protest in vain, but Meludir shut him down quickly. “Look, I didn’t call to ask for an apology. I’m still too goddamn angry with you.”

“Then what do you want?” Legolas asked softly, a little defeated.

“Just…” He hesitated, and Legolas could practically feel the reluctance radiating from the other end. “Stop being a fucking asshole to the people who care about you.”

“Do you still care about me?” Legolas asked, daring to hope but knowing fully well he didn’t deserve such small mercies.

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” Meludir said sharply. “If Tau asks, I called, alright?”

“Wait!” Legolas said.

“What?” The boy asked with a heavy sigh.

Steeling his courage in the face of likely rejection, he asked, “Can I take you to lunch sometime? Talk about what the hell’s been wrong with me lately?” He added quietly, “Make it up to you?” Meludir paused, and Legolas’ heart twisted.

“No.” Meludir’s answer was both resolute and absolute. Legolas’ shoulders dropped, and he resentfully swiped at the thin sheen of tears lining his eyes. He was just about to end the call when Meludir mumbled finally, “Maybe,” before hanging up. Legolas almost laughed.

Legolas found himself almost smiling. It felt kind of unfamiliar.

 

Hobbling across campus had proven to be a bitch and a half. The crutches dug into his armpits painfully, and the rubber hand grips left his fingers smelling like a tyre shop. He had to take the long way around most of the short flights of steps on nearly every path across campus. The cascading piles of golden-brown and red leaves that scattered the ground also proved especially treacherous underfoot. His single comfort was the key hanging from his neck on a twine cord that Gandalf had gifted him upon arriving in his dorm the day before. Lift access was a lifesaver.

By the time he reached Professor Galion’s office, he was nearly fifteen minutes late. As he came through the door, the professor looked up from his laptop and gave the flustered youth a sympathetic smile. Legolas was taken aback. Galion _never_ smiled. It immediately set Legolas on edge.

“Sorry I’m late,” he gruffly said, resting his crutches across the back of one of the leather chairs sat in front of Galion’s old oak desk. The man nodded, his brows knit in understanding.

“Really, it’s fine, Legolas,” he said warmly. “You’ve been through quite an upset.” Legolas’ eyes narrowed in his confusion. Galion was being way too nice for him just having a little bit of a broken leg.

“So, what’s the verdict with the midterm?” He asked, hoping Galion wasn’t offended by his indelicate drive to just take care of the matter and get the hell away from his oddly behaved professor.

“Well,” Galion began, his usually dour and pontificating mien quickly sliding back into place, “I believe you and young Gimli already have the top grades in the class.” His brows gathered as he nodded in agreement with himself. “As far as I’m concerned, you can just submit your report and samples. I don’t need to see a presentation. I trust you two understand the source material.” A gust of relief whooshed over Legolas.

“Okay,” he said. “So, I can just have Gimli drop the slides and zip drive off with you later?” Galion nodded, and he rose to shake Legolas’ hand as the boy struggled with his crutches.

“Terribly sorry to have you come all this way,” he said regretfully. “I was unaware your situation was so dire. Your father didn’t mention it at our meeting this morning.” Legolas’ ears immediately perked up. “Oh, speaking of which, you ought to stop by Professor Feren’s office on the way out. It seems, with your father’s assistance, that Feren ‘found’ an essay of yours that went missing some time ago?” Legolas’ eyes narrowed.

“My father did that?” Legolas asked, warmth suddenly licking up his chest. “Why would Feren agree-” The transparent expression of deep pity that Galion now gave him brought his words up short. Clearly, something was going on, and Legolas was miserably out of the loop. He felt the sting of anger starting to boil.

“I can’t imagine how difficult things must be right now,” the professor said softly. “If there’s anything we can do for you-”

“What are you talking about?” Legolas asked with studied indifference, his nails sinking into the grips of his crutches. Professor Galion was at a loss for words.

“Your father’s leave of absence-“

“ _What_ leave of absence?” Legolas demanded, his breath beginning to come in short bursts of panic.

“Don’t you know?” The man asked in shock. “He was in his office just now, gathering his things. He said he’d be gone by tomorrow. Something about an indefinite sabbatical. I’d have thought-”

But what Galion would have thought remained unknown as Legolas slung himself from the office and began hobbling down the hallway to the lift which would take him down to his father’s office on the ground floor of the old building. He gasped for breath, and he nearly found himself screaming at the glacial pace the lift seemed determined to slog through. Once the door dinged open, he practically dragged his bum leg behind him in his rush to intercept his father.

He threw open the office door and slammed it shut behind himself again, limping over to his father’s desk, where the man was pulling books from the bookshelves lining the wall and stacking them into cardboard boxes. Startled, Thranduil looked up at Legolas, silently taking in the half-crazed boy’s frantic breath. The man seized, a short stack of books tumbling from his fingertips onto the floor with a muffled bang.

“No,” he gasped, “you can’t be here.”

Legolas leaned heavily against his crutches and stood as tall and defiant as he could manage in his current state. “What’s this leave of absence bull _shit_?” Thranduil tore his eyes away from his son and returned to lifting books from the shelves, cursing himself for the trembling of his hands.

“You have to go,” he said softly. “For my sake and yours.”

His father was visibly stricken, drawn, withered, and Legolas caved ever so slightly, the crutches cutting uncomfortably into his armpits as he stood there helplessly. “Ada, you have to tell me what the hell is going on! Where are you going?” Thranduil shuddered to hear the tremor of pain decaying his son’s voice. He turned to Legolas again, bracing his hands against the desk between them, his eyes brimming with the sorrow he knew he couldn’t shed in front of Legolas.

“Ion, there are things about your grandfather that you don’t know-” Legolas just grimaced and shook his head.

“Why are you just leaving?” He demanded. His very being sang with a silent plea for Thranduil to end this foolishness, to just find a solution, to stay. Thranduil collapsed in his high-backed chair, gazing up at the boy woozily leaning before him.

He eventually mustered the strength to implore his son, “Legolas, please don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know we can’t be together. In any capacity.”

A single tear slipped down Legolas’ cheek, leaving a slick trail that might as well have been a hot, searing slash across Thranduil’s tainted heart. He nearly shook with the agony of it when Legolas finally whispered, his voice a shy and broken thing, “But I love you.”

Thranduil steeled himself against the onslaught of need and fierce, protective fire for this impossibly lovely and devastating boy. “Love won’t keep me alive.”

“Your love keeps me alive,” he whispered, his cheeks flushing charmingly. Thranduil knew he had to put a stop to this whole thing, even now that they had crossed so many boundaries together.

“Oh, don’t be childish,” he barked. Legolas flinched. Another tear slipped treacherously down the boy’s stained cheeks. Like a clap of thunder, anger burst in Legolas’ heart, and he glared at his father, his hair snapping around him like a whip.

Quickly losing his composure, he cried, “So, you’re just going to abandon me? _Us?_ ” Thranduil rose onto his feet and rounded on the boy, stalking around the side of the desk like he was prepared to knock Legolas flat on his back. When he reached his son, he grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hoodie and jerked him forward.

“Legolas,” the man hissed, “there was never meant to be an ‘us.’ Don’t you see that? Ours is not a love story.” He shook his head angrily, praying that Legolas would just give up this foolhardy errand, though knowing his son not to be one to forfeit so easily.

“It could be,” he gasped breathlessly, weak in his father’s overwhelming physical presence, the warmth, the tension, the strength of it all. Desperately, he implored the man, “We could run away! Hide somewhere no one’ll know who we are.”

“What, and leave your whole family behind? All your friends?”

“ _What_ friends?” He spat bitterly, leaving Thranduil aghast at the boy’s sheer obliviousness.

“The ones who came and spent hours by your side at the hospital, you selfish brat.” Legolas pulled away and nearly stumbled to the floor. He shook, but he refused to sit down and just take what his father was telling up. He looked the man in the eyes and found the telltale signs of terror and surrender, that flashing of cool blue distress.

“You’re afraid.”

“Of course, I’m afraid,” Thranduil spat, looking away from his son. “I’m not a fool.”

“No, you’re worse than that,” Legolas pressed, dawning realization of his father’s weakness striking a chord of resentment. “You’re a coward.” Thranduil’s nostrils flared as he jerked around to laugh at his son in petty spite.

“And you’re just a silly little boy throwing a tantrum because he can’t have his way.” Legolas hadn’t planned to strike his father, but the words stung, and he desperately needed the man to feel the same pain. His crutch went clattering to the floor a hair’s breadth of a second after the slap echoed through the office. Thranduil sagged where he stood, barely even ruffled by the aftershock of it. Legolas bit back the apology that threatened to come tumbling past his lips. The yellow-bellied bastard didn’t deserve any sorries. At length, Thranduil bent to pick up the crutch. He slipped it into his son’s stinging hand and stiffly walked back to his seat. He sighed, “Yeah, I’m a coward. But at least I’m going to be a living one, not some brave idiot left rotting in the woods for the wolves to find.”

“What are you talking about?”

Thranduil slipped his glasses off his face and lay his head down on the desk. “Leave, Legolas,” he begged, his voice exhausted. “Just… forget I exist. Imagine I’m one of those dads who goes out for cigarettes one day and then never comes back.”

“You fucking quitter!” Legolas shouted, his rage flaring like a wildfire. “I can’t _believe_ I ever looked up to you! I can’t believe I ever _wanted_ you. That I risked so much for you. What a fucking joke!”

“You risked _nothing_ ,” Thranduil hissed, jerking up to glare daggers at the impertinent boy. “And I’m losing everything. Maybe you lost your stupid little boyfriend, sure, but I’d’ve ended up fucking him anyway, and you know it. Now, go!”

“No,” Legolas whispered, ignoring the flurry of pain those words provoked. “You’re just trying to make me angry. I know that trick too fucking well. You don’t mean a damn word of what you just said.” A predatory mask fell over Thranduil’s face, and he slowly rose from his seat, a lithe display of power in the face of all Thranduil’s bared weakness. Legolas would have felt relieved were he not suddenly so anxious.

“Don’t I?” the man asked cruelly, smiling as he watched Legolas’ eyes bead with dew. “I’d have fucked him on your bed, too… filled him with my come... left him there shaking without release… Which I gather is more than you’ve ever done with him.” Legolas’ eyes fluttered shut as he shook his head, and he bit his lips hard, his forehead drawing in anguish. Thranduil stalked up to him and leaned down to whisper in the boy’s ear, “I’d have laughed at how stupid you were to _EVER_ have trusted me.” Legolas couldn’t hold back the pitiful stream of tears now. “You want a happy ending, little Legolas? Well, I hate to break it to you: this isn’t a sappy romance dreamt up by some doe-eyed thirteen year old schoolgirl. This is a horror story, and I’m the monster.” Legolas shuddered when his father reached up to tuck a tendril of hair behind one pointed ear. “Why can’t you get that through your thick _fucking_ skull?”

Legolas turned, slowly and resolutely making his way to the door. When he reached it, he slowly slid the lock into place. He turned back to his father with a softness and hunger in his eyes. “Okay. You’re going to leave me.” His voice tremored. “I can accept that.”

“You have no choice but to accept it,” Thranduil scoffed.

“Fair enough,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “But don’t leave me this way. You can’t do that to me.”

“And what way am I meant to leave you?” The man cried. Legolas leaned his crutches against the chair as he reached for the infuriating man in front of him, his fingers winding their way into the older man’s jacket lapel. He drank in the dark navy shade of the wool, and his stomach flipped with realization.

“You were wearing this the night... this all started.” Thranduil swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat. Suddenly, Legolas was too close for comfort, the boy’s warm, spring scent flooding his senses. He grew lightheaded. Legolas leaned against his hard chest and nestled his face in the bend of the man’s neck. Not knowing what else to do, Thranduil held his son with solid, steady arms. He cursed the universe for allowing this to feel so good and so right. Legolas pressed a soft kiss to the tender skin of his father’s throat.

“Legolas-”

The boy didn’t heed the guttural warning spoken in those three digits. “If I have to give you up, at least let me know what I’ll have lost.” When Thranduil peered down into his son’s headying gaze, he knew he had already lost. “Finish what you started.”

His body accepted defeat shortly before his brain gave up its fruitless protest. His slid shaking fingers into Legolas’ soft hair and guided the boy up for a slow, emotional kiss. Legolas bit back a sob. Thranduil pulled away and whispered, “Is this what you want?” The boy nodded, not trusting his voice any longer. Thranduil wrapped an arm around Legolas and pulled his body in tight, worshipping the sensation of the lithe form flush against his own. He parted his moist lips and drew Legolas’ bottom lip between his teeth. Legolas sank his fingers deeper into the pressed wool and pulled the man’s mouth harder against his own, wasting no time in sliding his tongue against his father’s.

When he pulled back, Legolas sighed, “You taste so-”

Thranduil suddenly turned and shoved the boxes and papers off his desk, and Legolas gasped in aroused shock. As it all slammed to the floor, he lifted the boy by the shoulders to sit on the edge of the desk. He sucked Legolas’ ear lobe, his tongue tracing a line of pleasure that left Legolas’ heart fluttering. He brushed his lips against the damp shell and breathed, “Legolas, have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to do what I’m about to do to you?”

“I just wish you’d do it already,” Legolas panted, rubbing a palm against his own half-hard cock. “With our luck, Grandpa’ll come kicking the door down any second.” Thranduil chuckled dark and low and trailed his fingers up his son’s trembling body, gingerly guiding Legolas to lie on his back. He slid a chair around and propped up Legolas’ cast and leaned over Legolas’ body, stealing starving kisses from the boy’s neck and chin and the pointed tip of his ear. Legolas groaned, grinding his body up against Thranduil’s throbbing cock. “Ada,” he cried, “ _Gi melin_.”

“I love you, too,” he moaned. “I love you the most.” He slipped his long fingers under the hem of his boy’s shirt and worked it up the lean torso, enraptured by the smooth, milky paleness of Legolas’ skin. “ _Valar_ , your body is a work of art.” Legolas grinned as he allowed his father to slowly strip him, and then he finally lie completely denuded for Thranduil’s eyes to devour, all long lines and straining, dripping cock. “My beautiful son,” Thranduil murmured through reverent kisses that danced down the length of Legolas’ flushing abdomen. “You make the Maiar jealous.”

“Ada, _please_ ,” Legolas begged, lifting his hips in real need. Thranduil pressed the impatient boy’s body down against the cool, hard desk with hands that itched to drift to the gorgeous cock just inches from his mouth. With a groan, Thranduil gave over to the feral lust that coursed through him, his own cock craving to be pressed against the boy. “Take off your clothes,” Legolas practically groaned himself, flushing dark red at the very fact that he dare beg such a thing of his self-possessed patriarch. The filth of it was not lost on the man, and it nearly crippled Thranduil, but his base desire gripped him firmly by dick, and he dragged his tongue, mouth wide and ready, up the dripping length laid bare to him and him only. He lapped up the boy’s salty precome, and his knees just about buckled as he played the sap across his tongue, savoring it like the most precious of wines. His body cried for him to _feed_ the writhing incubus spread before him. He grasped Legolas firmly by the chin and held their mouths open, and as the erotic nectar of precome and spit drip, drip, dripped onto Legolas’ hungry tongue, a savage beast reared up inside Thranduil. He pulled away, tearing at his own clothes in a way most unbecoming of a man of his station.

But who was he fucking kidding? He had no rank or class or status anymore. He was a wretched, filthy thing laid low by the infuriating drive to bury himself into the body of the one being whom he needed more than anything in the world, this one perfect youth direly in need of a very vigorous deflowering. With a fierce flash of bone-deep honesty, he vowed he’d make all of this suffering worth it for them. He’d gladly be of service.

Legolas watched him like a starving man, watched every stitch of expensive clothing being peeled from his father’s powerful frame. He grew dizzy with it. “Ada, I need you now. Need you so bad.” Thranduil moved to stand between his son’s legs again, the muscular planes of his body bare to the heat of the room. Digging his toes into the carpet, he buried his face in Legolas’ heavy balls, seeking the boy’s tight little pucker with his tongue. He tried not to smile when Legolas moaned, his fingers grasping the edge of the desk as he tossed his head back against the hard desk. Thranduil sucked and twisted his tongue, spreading his spit around the boy’s entrance without finesse but with a whole lot of hunger.

Inspiration struck, and Thranduil dug around in the top, left hand drawer of his desk, nearly shouting in triumph when he found a small bottle of hand lotion. Legolas watched him, the boy panting now, his hair a mess all fanned around him on the desk and his lean body rising and falling as he panted for air. Thranduil emptied the bottle into his hand and fisted his thick, rosy dick. He soon realized he was gasping for air just as desperately as Legolas was. He caught the boy’s gaze, staring into the boy’s soul as he slid two fingers into his son. The boy nearly shivered apart.

Thranduil leaned down over him, pulling him into a possessive kiss as he pumped his fingers slowly in and out of Legolas’ hole. He pressed his lips against Legolas’ ear, swallowed hard and whispered, “Ask me. Ask me for it.” Legolas moaned.

“Ada, please,” he whispered, brushing his lips against Thranduil’s. “Fuck my tight little arse.” Thranduil slipped his fingers from Legolas’ body and kissed him again, crazed and starving. With their chests pressed flush, holding each other with eyes and hungry kisses, Thranduil slowly pushed his slick cock into Legolas’ warm, wet hole. It felt like coming home.

He couldn’t restrain himself any longer. Thranduil thrust his himself to the hilt into his boy’s willing body, captured by the sweet caress of slick, tender flesh on every inch of his cock. He slid his arms around Legolas’ naked body and pulled him up at an angle. Legolas wrapped his leg around his father’s hip and rode his dick as the man pulled him down hard on it over and over again. Legolas’ head rolled back as bright jolts of feverish ecstasy shot through his limbs. His seeping cock slapped against his belly with each of his father’s delicious, powerful thrusts, and he felt his balls tighten. It was all too good and too much. He whimpered as he felt his climax approach.

Thranduil felt himself reaching orgasm as well, and when he heard his son’s high mewling, he lowered the boy back onto the desk and spit into his hand before pulling Legolas’ rigid dick into a firm grip. Legolas groaned, his mouth falling open as he writhed on the table, taking his ada’s pounding cock like a champion. “Ada, I’m gonna come.”

“Then come for me, my love,” he panted as his hair broke loose from its bun and fell around them like a weeping willow’s branches, brushing against Legolas’ sensitive abdomen. The shock of it twisted his pounding heart and pulled warm, ebbing heat up from his balls, and within a second, he was pumping waves of hot come against the curtain of his father’s hair and down the man’s fist. 

“Oh, ada, fuck!” He hissed as his whole body shook. As Legolas clenched around his father’s thick cock, pleasure cascaded through Thranduil, and he too came, gushing inside Legolas’ arse, breeding the boy with creamy jets of come. He slipped out of his son’s body and pulled away to see his seed dripping from Legolas’ stretched hole. The man fell to his knees, sucking and licking the hole clean. Legolas begged, “Let me taste it.”

Thranduil rose from his knees and pulled Legolas up for a deep, slow, messy kiss, their tongues lazily sharing Thranduil’s seed. When he finally pulled away, Thranduil rasped, “It seems you have an affinity for coming in my hair, you untidy thing.” He stood between Legolas’ legs as he pulled his hair back into a bun on top of his head.

“Sorry about that,” Legolas said with a small smile. Thranduil gazed down at him with the same grin before leaning down to press a chaste kiss against his son’s brow. Legolas sighed, feeling content for the first time in ages. He whispered, “So, was it worth it?” Legolas couldn’t meet the man’s eyes as he asked the nearly silent question.

“I only regret that we can’t do this again,” Thranduil answered, wrapping his arms around Legolas’ shoulders. He whispered against the crown of Legolas’ head, “I didn’t hurt your leg, did I?”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” Thranduil said. Legolas snuffled as the tears began filling his eyes again. “You know I would stay if I had any choice.”

“I know.”

“But you know that we can’t carry on with this,” he continued, feeling the twist of the knife in his heart.

“I know.”

“I love you so much.”

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a Happy New Year!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the beach house [living room](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZQU40WFQ2S0lQZ1k) and [bedroom](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4Y2G2-Jcb2ZX05SbzdMbFFwUnM).

_Ada,_

_I don’t really know how to start this._

_I don’t know if this will even reach you, but I had a dream three nights in a row about you, and it was always the same dream. Always you at the beach house. Walking barefoot on the shore. I don’t know if it means anything. I hope it means that you’re at the beach house, because that’s where I’m sending this letter. I know I shouldn’t, but I just..._

_I miss you._

_It’s been almost exactly two years and four months since our conversation in your office. That’s all I can really think about, how life is still going on around here, but everything is different. We spent that first Christmas at Aunt Celebrian’s place, and I got to hang out with the cousins. Uncle Elrond wouldn’t stop giving Arwen shit about her new boyfriend (they’re engaged now, but he finally came around). We were forbidden from bringing you up. Elladan and Elrohir pinned me down on Christmas Eve and demanded to know why you were really gone. It seems that they weren’t quite buying nana’s narrative that you had run off with a student and had elected to abandon your family. I didn’t know what to tell them, so I went along with the story. Anyway, it was all the same, us being together, but… I don’t know. Completely different. I wish you were still here._

_I know what we did was wrong. I’m not stupid. But I also know that there are a million things in the world more wrong than what we did. It doesn’t excuse our actions, but I think we lost perspective somewhere. A few stolen kisses doesn’t mean that you deserve exile._

_The first three weeks after it happened, nana didn’t even look at me. She stopped texting. I just kept going to classes, and I spent most of my time chilling with Gimli, because he didn’t ask questions I didn’t want to answer. I kept texting her at least once a day, but she never answered. And then after three weeks of silence, I came home from class and she was waiting in my dorm, just sitting on the couch chain smoking cigarettes. I didn’t even know she smoked._

_I told her everything. I’m sorry if it further incriminates you, but I needed to show her that you didn’t force my hand. That you didn’t manipulate me into anything I wasn’t ready for. I told her how my feelings had changed about you. She cried. She put me into counselling._

_I don’t think she smiled at me until about five months after it happened. She had just gotten a call from the shrink saying that I was well-adjusted and healthy again. I’ve gotten over my delusions and trauma. I’ve realized that my romantic feelings for my father were misguided and not genuine, sprung from emotional trauma and manipulation._

_I’m cured of my sickness. Cured of you. I can move on with my life._

_Eight months after it all happened, in May, I called Meludir. I asked him to coffee so I could explain myself to him and apologize for how I had treated him. He forgave me. We became friends again, and eventually, he came to trust me again. Our one year anniversary is in a week and a half. He makes me so happy. I love him. On our anniversary, I’m going to ask him to move in with me. I hope he’ll say yes. I’m so nervous._

_I actually got a job, by the way. I know you always said that I didn’t have to work while in school, but I needed to keep myself busy so that I didn’t drive myself insane. I got a job at Lindir’s Records. I didn’t even have to interview, because Lindir already knew me so well from the countless hours I’d spent chatting with him at the counter about the records and bands we love. He was like, “I already know you know your shit, kid. When can you start?” I really like working there, and I’m still keeping my grades up._

_Speaking of grades, I’m actually on the fast track to graduate at the end of this year. Just two and a half more months, and I’m done. I’ve taken loads of summer courses, and I already had all those credits from high school, so I’m getting out of this hell hole in three years instead of four. I think I’m going to travel for a while after I graduate. Tauriel said I could come stay with them in Erebor. I formed a band with Lindir and some friends, and I think we’re going to try to get a record deal or something like that. We’re pretty good, actually. I’ve not given up on Marine Biology, though. Don’t worry. It’ll always be a passion of mine. Like, I always have it as a backup plan in case the whole music thing doesn’t work out._

_Nana is still keeping tabs on me. She gets my text history mailed to her with the phone bill. She asks me about every strange number I text. She’d check my email if she didn’t think it would make her look crazy. I know she’s trying not to be controlling, but I also know she’s still scared and hurt, and I’m drowning in the guilt from that. I don’t think she believes a single word of what the shrink told her about my recovery. I think she still thinks that I lay awake at night wishing I could wrap my naked body around yours._

_Anyway, I hope this reaches you. I know you can’t reply. I understand. I just miss you so much it hurts._

_And I want you to know that nana’s right about me and about my feelings. And I’m sorry I couldn’t change that. Not for my sake but for yours._

_Yours always,  
Legolas_

 

“You look very handsome,” Sabariel said softly as she entered the room. Legolas glanced at her in the reflection of the mirror and gave her a sad smile. The woman sank onto the edge of his bed, patting nervously at her elegant updo.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” He asked. She sighed heavily.

“I only need to put on the dress,” she said, waving his concerns away. He could tell she came to him with a purpose, but he soon realized he’d have to prize it from her. “The family’s stressing me out a bit. I needed a break.”

“Want a smoke?”

“You know I’m trying to quit,” she chastised him. He grinned. She almost did the same.

“Where’s Voronwë?” Legolas asked coolly.

“He’s already at the venue with the Best Man,” she said lightly. Suddenly, her mood darkened, and she began to implore her son, “Legolas, I know you don’t like him-”

“But you love him,” Legolas finished for her. “And I already swore that I’d be on my best behavior, so…” He shrugged and fidgeted with his tie again. Rolling his eyes, he cried, “Nana, why do I have to wear this damn thing? I feel like I’m being strangled.” She frowned and jumped up to help him adjust it.

“It’s because you put it on too tight!” She fumbled with it for a moment but only succeeded in rumpling the untidy knot. Her eyes lined with tears, and she jerked away from him. “Dammit, your father always did his own ties. I don’t know how to… Meludir!” She called. A moment later, the auburn Elf popped his head into the room, immaculate in his pressed tuxedo. He held a piece of pecan shortbread in one hand, a safe distance from his pristine attire.

“Yes, ma’am?” He asked with bright eyes. Legolas’ heart swelled with affection for Meludir’s eternal enthusiasm.

“Can you please help Legolas?” She asked, desperately trying to calm her frayed nerves.

“Of course,” he murmured, shoving the shortbread into his mouth and brushing his hands clean. Legolas turned to him gratefully, and Meludir carefully wound the tie into a neat Windsor. He stood back to admire his work, and when he decided he approved, he leaned in and gave Legolas a chaste kiss. “There. Perfect.”

“It’s still uncomfortable,” Legolas pouted.

“Deal with it,” Meludir challenged him. He made for the door. “Galadriel’s stuffing me full of baked goods in the kitchen. I have to run.” As he slipped the door shut behind him, Legolas turned to Sabariel, standing at the window, gazing out into the yard.

“I’m starting over,” she said softly, her breath condensing into a dew on the glass. Legolas sat down on the bed, staring uncomfortably at his hands. She turned to look at him, but this time her eyes were soft and kind. “You know I forgive you, right?” Legolas nodded, swallowing hard.

“I don’t deserve it,” he croaked.

“Maybe not.” She sat down next to him, the springs of the mattress creaking, and slung an arm around his shoulder. “But being a mother is a special form of insanity.”

It took every fiber of his being to say, “Voronwë is a good man.”

“Hopefully, this time, he’ll stay that way.”

 

It was late in the morning when he finally awoke, the sunlight blazing on his particular patch of wooden flooring, making sleeping in a distant dream. He peeled his eyes open and tried to ignore the desperate thirst in his throat. He was surrounded by unpacked cardboard boxes. In the few times his mother had come visit since he’d been exiled, she had glanced upon the boxes with horrible pity. He despised the thought that someone would pity him.

Legolas’ letter lay half crumpled on his bed, still unmade after weeks in spite of the clean sheets the woman had left folded neatly on the corner. He batted away the empty whiskey bottle on the floor next to his head and nearly retched as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Reading Legolas’ words the night before had been painful, horrifically so. He rose to his feet and numbly walked through the impressive beach retreat. He took in the sparse furnishing and happy family photos framed on the walls. Every chair and vase and paint color, he and his wife had chosen together. His mother had told him, “You’re just punishing yourself, living like this.” 

In a moment of rare clarity, he realized that any thought he’d had of the Grey Havens giving him any kind of respite had been unmitigated folly. He reached up to the portrait that had been taken of Sabariel and him at their wedding all those years ago, so young, so happy, so completely unaware of what disaster and heartbreak lay a few scant years down the road for them both. He pried it from the wall and slammed it to the floor. The glass shattered, and he felt _good_ for a moment. He’d nearly forgotten what that felt like.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. His face was gaunt, like living death. Like _fading_. He steeled his shoulders and marched over to one large, unpacked box. He upended it, spilling its various contents onto the floor. Frantically, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks, he shoved the portraits and vases and statuettes and throw pillows into the box.

Barefoot and shirtless, his ratty hair streaming down his back, he strode through the front door and down the path that led to the cliff overlooking the deep, dark ocean. Standing on the edge, toes dug into the red soil, he dumped it all into the ocean and watched with a cry as it sank into the depths and disappeared forever. He stomped back inside and grabbed that damned sofa Sabariel had loved so much and struggled as he dragged it down the hall and out the door, where it met the same watery grave.

It all had to go. Every single memory of that insanely strong and loving woman had to be destroyed. His greatest failure belonged hidden forever in the inescapable depths of the sea. The sun had begun to set, all orangey and pink, and his muscles screamed and ached with the day’s labor, but when he stepped into the cleansed house, he burned with life. He’d forgotten the sensation.

He stormed into the kitchen, where sat several unopened bottles of whiskey. With a feral howl, he yanked open one bottle and held it over the sink, watching with giddy abandon as the amber poison gurgled down the drain. He repeated this until each bottle lay empty in the recycling bin.

A colorful note on the fridge caught his eye, written in his mother’s loopy handwriting: “EAT.” He leaned against the sink, sobbing. He stumbled to the bathroom and drew a hot shower. Still in his jeans, he stepped into the shower and let the hot water scald him, washing away weeks of grime and sweat and misery. He stayed there a long time, the water beating against his face, until finally, it ran cold. He trudged to his bedroom and peeled off his sopping jeans and underwear. He spread the clean, white sheets on the bed and finally crawled into its depths, clutching Legolas’ letter close to his heart.

 

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Sabariel asked, holding Legolas’ backpack in her pale hands. “Passport? Extra cash? Satellite phone?” She looked so small standing in the grand foyer of their home, the tall, angled planes of glass standing in sharp contrast to her soft, warm form. She’d been so busy and stressed in the weeks following her wedding, and Legolas tried not to be too impatient with her.

“Satellite phone?” He scoffed. “We’re going to South by Southwest, not Siberia, naneth.”

“I know, baby,” she sighed. “But America is so far away, and you’ve never been this far from Eryn Lasgalen alone.” Her brow wrinkled in concern as she chewed her bottom lip.

“Time to cut the apron strings, ma’am,” Gimli interjected. “He’s a big boy, and he’ll be with the group.” She scowled at Gimli, who gave her a puckish, winning wink. She didn’t argue. “We’ll drop him off as soon as spring break’s over.”

“I’m going to be fine, naneth,” Legolas swore, bending to kiss her on the cheek. She thrust his backpack into his hands and heaved a worried sigh.

“You’ll call me when your plane lands?” She demanded.

“While we’re taxiing,” Legolas promised. 

“I know it’d be terribly uncool to have your mother tag along to the big gig, but..” she muttered. Voronwë sidled into the foyer and pressed a calming hand against the small of her back. He leaned his dark head down against hers as he pulled her in close.

“Everything’s going to be okay, my love,” he said sweetly, and she turned to him with a sheepish smile. The boys were already dragging Legolas’ luggage and music equipment out to the airport shuttle that was waiting for them in the driveway.

 

Thranduil cast a blank gaze over the desolate ocean horizon that stretched out below the cliffs before him. Spring had come so fast. Although the beach house was small, it wasn’t modest, and the tall glass walls of the living room gave him this view that had come to absorb his mind over the last few years. He’d spent a pretty penny ordering new furniture from the carpenter on the mainland, but he still felt jittery and listless. He felt empty and disoriented. He had stared into the void, and it had begun to stare back into him.

His face hadn’t regained much of its color, and the blue eyes that had once sparked with passion still glinted dully in the fading light of the afternoon sun. He tied his hair into a messy bun on top of his head and sat down at his desk, opening a document on his laptop. His editor had been riding his arse for the next installment of the textbook he was working on, and he knew he shouldn’t stall any longer. The work kept him centered, focused.

He ached for even a single sip of wine, anything. His hands shook with each word he tried to type, and he just wanted to scream and claw his own hair out. The pain meds had done nothing to calm the pounding of his head, but he knew all the torment and frustration was going to be worth it eventually. If only he could get past these first few weeks without murdering anyone…

His stomach churned, but he already knew it would be fruitless to dig around in the pantry or fridge. He’d need to ride his boat into town in the morning to see the fishmonger and farmer’s wife about restocking his kitchen. It would be good for him. He’d already gone three weeks without talking to a single, solitary human being, as he seldom left his island, and no one ever came to visit.

There was a knock at the door.

He ignored it for a while, because he was certain his mind was playing tricks on him again, but after a moment, the knock reverberated down the hall again. He slid over in his rolling chair to look down the hallway, where he could see a shadow through the frosted glass of the front door. Mind reeling at the oddness of having a visitor, he got up and walked the length of the hall. He opened the door, and his heart seized in his chest.

“Hello, ada,” Legolas said, uncertainty stamped clearly across his face. He shifted his backpack on his shoulder. “Can I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll just end it here.
> 
> Here's Legolas' theme for the chapter, "[Answering Machine](https://youtu.be/G4QYJG8AxSw)" by the Replacements. Thranduil's theme is "[To Be The One](https://youtu.be/hekcNSyhW9g)" by Ryan Adams.
> 
> You should check out the fan art that [barbiedoll](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barbiedoll) drew for this fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9160954).
> 
> Thank you so much for staying with me and leaving feedback on this fic. It's been a rollercoaster to write these past six months, and this fic has meant more to me than any other project I've worked on. I really appreciate those of you who've been with me for the long haul.
> 
> If you want to keep up with my current and future projects, like [In A Wooden Nest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9180499/chapters/20837335) or my attempt at reworking my old abandoned WIP The Father, The Son & The Unholy Ghost, you can always [follow me](http://catarrhini.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


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